Page 48 of Rough Return

Fiona stood behind him in his cramped office that only fit his desk—a scarred wood that despite being old would never be classified as an antique—and a chair of equal age with bright orange vinyl armrests and seat cushion. She leaned over his back, trying to see what he saw until he set the magnifier down perfectly perpendicular to his desk blotter. “Do you mind? You’re fogging up my lens with your hot lady breath.”

Yes, she did mind, but Fiona moved to the lone chair on the other side of the desk. Sage stood at the door, arms and ankles crossed, head down as if the pattern in the carpet intrigued him. “Is it real?”

He sighed. His bald head shined under the overhead lights and the age spots in his hands wobbled when he reached for his paper coffee cup. He held it out to her. “Why don’t you go out and get a cup of coffee. Come back in a half-hour. I’ll know more by then.”

Translation: he wanted her gone. But she hadn’t made a copy of the picture, and damned if she intended to let the original out of her sight. She shook her head, but Sage stood. “Come on, Fiona. Let’s let him work. You want him to get it right.”

She scowled at Sage then at Ralph but stood. “We’ll be right outside.”

Her stomach clenched. She needed definitive proof. Really needed to know if her husband had betrayed the club. Again. She didn’t want the picture to be an authentic one or to believe Grier would risk hurting their baby or her. She wanted it to be a phony, to know that someone had put Grier’s head on a different body. Then the envelope or whatever it had inside wouldn’t matter. But part of her knew it was him. Not even the part that was all anger and red-hazed glares. It was the part of her that knew him intimately, recognized the curve of his ass, the breadth of his shoulders.

That he was handing an envelope—what else would it be but money—to the now-dead driver of the burned shipment meant she’d found her traitor. She’d been happy to blame Sedotal until she’d found a large, brown, unmarked envelope on her desk. Her world, already teetering, crashed down in front of her when she pulled out this goddamned picture.

Sage led her all the way to the sidewalk. She clasped her shaking hands. This was too much. Singularly, she could handle any one of the issues on her pile, but it was a pile now. A big, dirty pile of secrets, lies, and pain so raw she could barely find it in herself to crawl out of bed in the morning. And only one thing she could say for certain. If this picture proved to be true, she wouldn’t lie for Grier a second time.

And they would kill him.

As if Sage could read her mind, he dropped a hand on her shoulder. “He might have an explanation. It could be… nothing.”

But his words didn’t hide his doubt. “Thanks for bringing me. I know you guys are tight…”

Sage nodded. “You want a coffee or something?” He pointed to the coffee shop. “Maybe a donut for the little guy?”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or even been interested in food. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

He walked away, and she tapped her foot against the sidewalk. Maybe there was an explanation. Not that she could think of one. Not that it would make a difference. She turned to look into the window, didn’t notice the man behind her until he put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Fi.”

“Grier.” If she tried hard enough, closed her eyes, and listened with her heart instead of her head, she could almost pretend things hadn’t changed between them. She smiled. Wishing. Hoping. Then she turned, and all her hope died away.

“What are you doing standing out here on the sidewalk?”

“Sage went to get us coffee.” She didn’t have a reason to be outside Ralph’s office. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard you went to see Ralph.” He moved to stand next to her, and they both faced the street. “You stood me up last night.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She’d found him in her bed at the clubhouse and stayed with Jez. After finding the picture, she just couldn’t face him. “I, um, uh…”

“Am avoiding me.”

She nodded. “Yeah.” She shook her head. “Grier, I can’t do the big ‘us’ talk. Not now. There’s too much going on.” She didn’t look at him. Wouldn’t survive looking into the face of his hurt or anger or anything else there.

“Fiona.” He ducked his head. “I know you’re angry that I didn’t protect you.” When he brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear then left his hand at her cheek, she almost melted. For one second. Then her anger came right back.

“Grier. I can’t…”

He sighed. “Please, Fiona. I just need to say some things.” He didn’t speak again until she nodded. “You’re right. I should’ve taken better care of you. You’re my family. You and the baby. But I won’t ever make that mistake again.” He pushed off the wall. “I just wanted you to know that.” He started to walk away then turned and came back. “And that I love you.” He pulled her in and brushed his lips over her hair then walked away again. And this time, she watched him go.

* * *

Fiona stared at Ralph. “What the hell does that mean?” An entire day—felt like it anyway—she’d waited for something that would tilt her decision to the right side. She’d drank enough decaf her stomach sloshed and she’d peed about twenty-five times. And if she’d heard him right, Ralph had nothing.

“It means this is a picture that may or may not have been tampered with. It’s not an original print either way. And that means unless you find the original, I won’t be much help.”

She’d been here three hours already. Wasted time. “Are you sure? There’s no way you can tell?” With as much as her father had paid him over the years, he should have been able to afford not only a nicer office but some serious FBI kind of equipment.

“I’m sorry, Fiona.”

She blew her breath out and stood, holding out her hand for the photo. “Thanks, Ralph.” She smiled and slid the picture back into the envelope.