Page 26 of Brother's Keeper

The next sounds I heard were the car doors closing and muffled voices outside.

“You’re in charge,” Nash said. “Call us if you hear from Ripley.”

Snuffling a breath, I pushed up on my right arm and peeked out the window. Donovan and Nash were engaged in conversation while Maggie stood idly by.

“Callus?” Donovan echoed. “Where’s Fitch going?”

“With me,” Nash replied. “We both know he’s shit at taking care of himself, so I’m stepping in.”

“Yeah…” Donovan paused. “He doesn’t really like people helping, though.”

“He’ll get over it.” Nash pulled the driver’s door open and started to slide in, but Donovan called after him.

“You really like him, huh?”

“Fitch?” Nash asked.

Who else?I scoffed to myself. But my brother had asked the question I’d been afraid to, unsure as I was where Nash and I stood in the mess of friends/benefits/fuck buddies. I also didn’t know how I would respond if asked the same thing. Probably with a similarly cagey inquiry, which wasn’t an answer at all.

“He likes you, too,” Donovan continued. “Even if he won’t say so.”

Nash huffed in response. Almost a laugh.

The quiet stretched until it wore thin, and I strained to see Donovan standing beside the car, looking off toward the water.

“He’s kinda soft, you know?” A pensive expression overtook my brother’s face, and I wished I could see Nash’s countenance as clearly. “He acts like a jackass, but he’s been through a lot.”

“You both have,” Nash murmured.

Donovan shrugged. “I guess.” His mouth twisted. “Just don’t hurt him, okay? He’s had enough of that.”

I wanted to shout at him to butt out, or at least to stop calling me soft and confessing feelings I didn’t want shared. But I felt his concern, and I appreciated it.

“I have no intentions of hurting your brother, Donnie.” Nash’s voice was as soft and reassuring as I knew it would be. I believed him. Donovan did, too, judging from his succinct reply.

“Good.”

The door closed, the car rocked into gear, and the bumps and turns of the drive across town lulled me back to sleep.

The next morning wasalmost too perfect with scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, shower sex, and a new suit laid out on the bed. Nash claimed he stumbled across it. Thought I would look nice in it. Just happened to be my size. They were lame excuses, and he blushed his way through all of them. I wasn’t about to turn it down, though. Even if I hadn’t accidentally shrunk my old suit in the dryer, it was thoroughly ruined now, torn in the big cat attack, then cut off of me by the Capitol healers.

One thought put a damper on the day, and it came as I was shouldering into my new jacket. I hadn’t been wearing the too-tight coat when Jax launched himself at me. I’d draped it over the chair in the interrogation room and, in the medication-fueled fog of the past two days, I had forgotten it. I wasn’t worried about the garment, but the contents of its pockets had me breaking a sweat as Nash droveme to the Capitol.

The stolen pages from the Blooming Orchid’s guestbook were tucked inside with my name signed below Frederick Sumner’s. Even if I believed the investigators wouldn’t go through my things, Felix’s luck magic could spur an impromptu search, or cause the jacket to turn and dump the papers onto the floor, or a dozen other unlikely scenarios. Imagining the possibilities had me toe-tapping by the time we pulled into the employee parking garage.

Nash’s hand had rested on my thigh for most of the drive, and he gave it a squeeze. “Have a good day. Try not to get mauled.”

Chagrined, I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

The Woody Wagon had barely stopped at the curb before I bolted from the car. I mentally slammed the door shut behind me, then looked back to see Nash bent in for a kiss I’d inadvertently snubbed.

“Sorry!” I waved but didn’t stop or slow in my rush toward the elevator.

Maybe my old jacket was still in the interrogation room, unbothered and unseen. How often did they use that space, anyway? Just in case, I started prepping my cover story. I grabbed the pages for them, of course. Trying to aid the investigation. Or, if that was too unbelievable, they could blame it on my sticky, criminal fingers.

I stepped into the elevator and waited while twitching with anxious energy. When the door slid open on the upper level, my mask of composure slipped. Vesper stood with her arms crossed and a black leather briefcase hanging off her shoulder.

“Farrow,” she greeted curtly. “Good. You’re here.”

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