Page 59 of Ten

“Nothing good,” I figured. “Did you know about her arrest?”

“Yeah, but it was a long time ago. She was a kid, and it didn’t even stick. I don’t even think she got probation for it.” He glared at my phone. “She sure as shit was no dope fiend or whatever nonsense that asshole is peddling.”

“They all think we knew.” I made the mistake of scrolling accidentally on the screen. There were more comments like the ones from last night. “They think Chess and I must have known our men were monsters.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to BTK’s wife and kids or any of the women Ted Bundy dated.” Eric took my phone and closed the app. “Don’t read any more of this shit. It’s going to give you anxiety.”

“Too late,” I said, taking my phone back. “I’ve been anxious since I saw Chad and Robin Harris in the lobby at Allure with Tiara.”

“I have to admit I’m surprised you two get along as well as you do.” Eric rose from his seat and crossed to the refrigerator.

“Why? She’s a nice person. Maybe a bit too pink and glittery for my taste,” I said, thinking of her station and the glammed-out décor she had. “But we get along fine.”

“I didn’t mean her bubbly personality,” Eric corrected, his head now hidden behind the refrigerator door as he perused its contents. “I meant because of her brother.”

I frowned. “She doesn’t have a brother. Or any family,” I added. “She was a foster kid. Aged out and went to cosmetology school.”

With a carton of orange juice in hand, Eric straightened and shut the refrigerator door. Now he was the one frowning. “I meant Derek.”

“Derek?”

“Derek Miller,” Eric said slowly. “Her foster brother. Back in Carrizo Springs.”

My whole world suddenly tilted, and I would have fallen out of the chair if I hadn’t been pushed up close to the table. “What?”

Eric seemed taken aback. “You didn’t know?”

“Do I fucking look like I knew?” My mind raced as I thought of every conversation I had ever had with Tiara. Had she ever mentioned Derek? Had she ever mentioned Carrizo Springs? “Why wouldn’t she tell me that?”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask her,” Eric said, his brow furrowed. “Damned odd thing to keep to yourself. There’s no way I could work with someone related to a person who was suspected of murdering my brother.”

“Not unless you wanted to fly under the radar and set them up,” Ilya interjected as he returned to the kitchen. He pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. “Tell me everything you know about this Tiara girl.”

Clearly, not enough.

Chapter Seventeen

ParkingathisPOwas dog shit as usual. He had to circle the block twice before giving up and traveling farther down the street. He found a lot with open spots and queued up to turn into it.

“$45 for the day,” a college-aged kid manning the entrance said.

“For a weekday? Fuck off. This lot never costs more than $25 on a weekday.”

“Supply and demand, friend,” the dickhead kid replied with a shit-eating grin.

For a split-second, Ten thought about grabbing the kid by the front of the shirt and teaching him some manners. Then he spotted a familiar face walking down the main row of vehicles. Sticking his head out the window, he called out, “Hey, Pelon! Tell thispendejoto stop trying to gouge me with this $45 bullshit!”

The kid stiffened. Ten smirked at him. “Next time you want to pull a scam, make sure your mark isn’t friends with your boss.”

Pelon sauntered over and told the kid off in rapid-fire Spanish. “My wife’s nephew,” he said as the kid hurried away. “Pinche culero.”

“I figured.” Ten handed Pelon a twenty and a five. “I won’t be long.”

“PO?” Pelon guessed.

“Yeah.”

“There’s a spot in the back row, left.”

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