Page 16 of Biker Daddy

“I’m Rebecca.” She stuck out her small hand, nails painted the same pink as her lips, but Drew ignored it. “Can we talk about Ray?” The woman gestured back to the room with the coffee and Drew wondered if she was a grief therapist or something. He didn’t hide his impatience though. He sighed forcefully, walked to his spot on the couch, and fell into it. He didn’t need to talk about Ray to anyone—least of all a fucking stranger.

Once the woman sat, he spoke. “I think we should wait for his niece. I’m just here for moral support.” He let out another breath and looked back to the door.

“Oh?” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows pulled tighter. “You did live with Ray, didn’t you?”

What the fuck did that matter?“Yes, as the caretaker of the camp, but his niece is his family.”

“So, you were just an employee?”

“Well, no, not quite. We were friends.” He puckered his brow. “Who are you?”

“I thought we established that. I’m Rebecca.”

He flicked an eyebrow skyward and smoothed his beard. “Actually, we haven’t. Telling me your name doesn’t tell me who you are, does it?”

“I suppose.” Her eyes shuttered before she straightened and her look seemed to sharpen.

“You’re that reporter, Rebecca Snow, aren’t you? See, you better not be her because I’ve been telling her to give us some privacy since Ray died. And I’m no longer planning on being nice about it.”

Her eyes widened and then hardened.

Not so easily intimidated, huh?“Get the hell out of here.” He spat the words with vehemence, his fists clenching in his lap.

The redhead shrank back a little, her confidence faltering. She even had the nerve to look down the hall where Colin had disappeared like she was afraid of him.

“I promise the piece will be tasteful,” she said.

“Do I look stupid to you?” He crossed his arms and lowered his chin, giving her a disparaging smile.

“Uh, no.” He saw she was chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Then don’t play me for a fool. As soon as you called I looked up your work—you love dirt and we both know it. You’re one of those word-twisting, out-of-context, rabid-dog writers.”

“This could be my break, Mr. Fitzer. My way out of writing that trash. I think Ray had an amazing story and I want the world to hear it.”

Drew jumped to his feet and by the surprise she showed, faster than she expected he could move. “You’re just a tabloid writer, pretending you’re better than the weekly rags, and you always will be.” His voice was harsh and loud and her jaw clenched before she opened her mouth to speak. Drew pointed to the door. “Get the hell out of here. The fact that you’ve been calling me since the news broke about Ray’s death without allowing anyone time to grieve and you’ve now come to the funeral home to get what you want is proof enough you have no morals, Miss Snow. Go, before I toss you out.”

Colin came rushing back, looking only slightly more alert. “I’ve called the police.”

Rebecca’s mouth curved down in a scowl, which was the first honest expression she’d shown in his opinion, and turned on her heel to swiftly walk to the door. She looked over her shoulder shrewdly and spoke. “Perhaps you have something to hide, Mr. Fitzer. How does a man with Mr. Moore’s artistic genius fail high school art class? And how is it a man whose last painting sold for six-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars is three years behind on his property taxes? Mr. Moore’s life and work with all those charities would have made a lovely story but suddenly I’m more curious than ever about the secret side of his life.” She exited the doors with a flick of her hair.

Drew closed his eyes and fought his urge to punch the wall.

“Oh, my, that was quite a bit of trouble,” Colin said, and Drew opened his eyes to see the man wringing his knobby fingers at his front.

“You shouldn’t have let her in here,” Drew growled, anger still burning deep. “What if she got to Addi? That poor girl is grieving and the last thing she needs is some reporter, using her words out of context and writing a trash piece on the world famous artist, Ray Moore, her beloved uncle.”

“You’re right. I apologize. It’s just…” he stuttered, “w-we don’t normally interrogate guests who come into the home.”

“You patronizing me, Colin? Because I know it’s not often you have famous people in your funeral home and perhaps you should have foreseen some issues arising. You need to review your policies, yeah?”

“Yes, of course.” He bowed again and Drew bared his teeth before storming back to the room to grab his jacket. It was time he found Addi and taught her a lesson about punctuality.

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