Page 36 of Brother's Keeper

I snorted a laugh. “You have no idea—”

“Release him,” Tobin said gruffly. “Now.”

My fist stayed balled for a reluctant moment longer. When I opened it, Jax shoved backward, swearing and swatting futilely at the air.

I cast a sideways glance at Tobin, who appeared typically snobbish in every aspect from his carefully combed hair to the rigid set of his shoulders. It was like he forgot I saved his life or was determined to make me regret it.

“I don’t suppose I can scold you for being unprofessional,” he said after a moment. “That isn’t in your job description.”

My face puckered as I glowered at him. “Neither is giving a shit what you have to say.”

He wasn’t my boss. Not even my equal. Not in the ways that mattered, at least. I turned toward the cell again, where Jax stood with chest heaving. “Now, if you don’t mind,” I continued to Tobin, “I have a few more questions for the prisoner.”

“Not. Talking.” Jax bit off each word. “Not today. And I’m going back to Thorngate tomorrow, so you’re too late.”

“Good fucking riddance,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Too late” was vague enough to worry me. Was it too late for Ripley? How would I know? If his demise came now, after he’d sided with me in the warehouse showdown, I would be stuck with a zombie roommate and a heavy load of guilt.

With Tobin lingering, I couldn’t press the issue. Theinvestigator was eager to throw blame my way for any perceived slip up. Finding out about my connection with Ripley—another escaped convict and active Bloody Hex member—would send Tobin running to Holland. He’d proven himself a tattletale over the plague cure, and I wouldn’t put it past him to sell me down the river again.

Beyond all of that, a new concern arose. Jax was one person with his sight set on me. York and Jette made two more needing Hex marks of their own. Even if they got Ripley’s, they would still be down one. The plague bringer was big game. Not at all the easy mark I’d tried to pass him off as. I knew of a much more vulnerable target, likely lazing around the houseboat at this very moment without a care in the world.

I needed to go home.

Finding my brother exactlywhere I expected him—reposed on the boat’s deck with sunglasses and a book—brought fleeting relief. I might have told him so, but I didn’t get a word in before he leaped up and flapped his paperback at me.

“You owe me big. Forty-eight hours and counting.” He swung his arm toward the cabin behind him. “She doesn’t sleep. Did you know that? I didn’t, either. Too afraid I would wake up missing my damn brain.”

His clothes were rumpled and his brown hair mussed. That, plus the shadows ringing his eyes, proved he spoke the truth. His paranoia was unfounded, though. Maggie had never made the slightest aggressive move toward any of us. She preferred her meals postmortem.

I dragged myself up the steps onto the deck, holding my suit coat over one arm while tugging my tie loose. “You got a little…” I gestured to the strip of burned skin across Donovan’s freckled nose and cheeks.

“Peace and quiet is what I got,” he snapped and shook the book again.

Sniffing, I rolled my eyes. “Hell, Donnie, she doesn’t talk. How much quiet do you need?”

“Peace, then,” he retorted. “And precious personal space. I can only take so much beauty parlor and Tic-Tac-Toe.”

“She likes Dots and Boxes, too,” I mumbled.

Donovan nodded. “Sounds like you have your night planned, then. I’m going for dinner. Been licking crumbs off the counters in there.” He aimed a spiteful glare at the cabin.

“You could’ve had something delivered,” I said. “Bet you’ve got the pizza place on speed dial.”

“Real funny, Fitch.” Tossing the book into the plastic chair’s seat, he brushed past me on his way to the dock. “Maggie’s hungry, too, by the way,” he called over his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” A whine edged into my voice. “I could’ve brought something from the morgue.”

I pulled my tie over my head, then threw it and my jacket on top of Donovan’s discarded book. Digging into my slacks pocket, I pulled out a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes. The lighter rattled around inside, but there were no cigarettes to be found.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

“So, go back up there.” Donovan stopped on the steps and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Take Maggie with you.”

“Capitol’s closed,” I said. “And I’m not about to callVinton and explain… this.”

Considering what Ripley had said about the burly necromancer’s connection to Maggie, it seemed best he stayed in the dark about recent developments. I wasn’t sure how tight his grip was on the zombie girl or the extent of his sway over her, and I didn’t care to find out.

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