Page 3 of Redemption

“Where did you grow up?” I repeat my earlier question.

“Louisiana,” she replies, her head swiveling between the direction she had pointed and her truck as if trying to decide whether we’re done here or if she should continue on. “My dad is Paul’s only child, he went down to Mardi Gras one year and hooked up with a woman from there. Mom’s whole family were roughnecks, and he became one also.”

“Are you off on Saturday?” I ask, becoming more intrigued about her by the second.

Her partial explanation makes me want to know more, but I hesitate, wondering why I give a shit about her story. I can’t even remember the last time I bothered to ask a woman what her name was. Bridget has long since given up on me settling down, or at least, she had until meeting her half-brothers and getting to know their Ol’ Ladies.

Maybe it’s the color of her hair, or something more, but nothing wrong with shooting my shot.

She tilts her head up at me in question, her eyes assessing my intent. My lips slowly spread into a wide smile, because yeah, I want her to see my interest.

“We’re having a joint birthday party for a handful of my brothers’ kids. Bouncy house, pony rides, the whole nine yards,” I tell her, hoping to keep her from running off. “Maybe, your granddad would get a kick out of coming by, and showing you the work he was capable of, back in his prime.”

Sloane’s eyes widen in surprise, the offer making her pause since I included her granddad. Without the shade from the brim of her hard hat, I finally notice that her eyes are dark blue, so dark they’re almost black.Another difference between them, a voice in my head volunteers.

“You know, I think he’d really like that,” she replies, her voice has softened, telling me I hit her weak spot. “I’ve been trying toget him out of the house more, but hanging out at the Elk Lodge listening to everyone’s ailments doesn’t seem to be cheering him up.”

The grimace I unconsciously make, tugs up one side of her lips.

“Any time after twelve,” I let her know.

“Can I bring anything? Maybe gifts for the kids?”

“Don’t worry about that, they’re spoiled as hell and the whole thing is being catered,” I assure her.

I stand, staring after the truck as she passes through the gates, barely paying attention to the sound of boots crunching on the gravel behind me.

“Vector, Crasher says the easiest way to run a search is with ground penetrating radar,” Oak tells me. “It’s expensive as shit, but there are rental options.”

“Which leave a paper trail,” I point out the obvious problem with that. “Does Tyrant’s cousin still have that construction job?”

“I can check,” Oak replies.

“It sounds like the type of equipment that construction companies might use.”

“It does, but I’ll check that, too.”

“I’ll set our lawyer on VNG, that should buy us a little time before they get started. I don’t need to know details, just let me know if you run into problems. Figure we have a week to handle this.”

With a nod, he heads back inside to deal with this, and I turn back to looking in the direction that Sloane went. The work truck she was driving is long gone, but I can’t deny the pull I feel.

Chapter 2

Sloane

“I’m home, Pops!” I yell out when I walk into the mudroom from the garage.

“How’d it go, honey?” he shouts back needlessly loud, popping his head into the doorway and scaring the crap out of me. “Ya know, Icanhear the garage door open, right? No arthritis in my ears.”

“No one likes a smart ass,” I repeat back the phrase we use more often than ‘I love you’, entering the kitchen to see that he’s been preparing a sandwich out of last night’s leftovers. “And to answer your question, I must have run into every neanderthal in the county today.”

“You just give me their names, these hands can still handle a shotgun, y’know,” he tells me as I grab a plate for myself and piece together my own supper.

“Actually, one of them remembered you. This guy with the Northern Grizzlies? Weird name for this area,” I tell him but stop talking when he turns to stare at me.

“Jigsaw’s dead, so I guess you’re talking about his son,” Pops says more to himself than to me.

“I don’t know his dad’s moniker, but he goes by Vector. The name on the paperwork said Andrew Morgan.” I relay the only information I have on the biker I met earlier. Turning away from him and cursing my fair skin for blushing as I pretend to look for something in the fridge in the hopes he won’t gauge my interest.

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