Page 121 of Then You Happened
Pete just shakes his head. “I know it is. I know what you’re made of. The question is, how are you going to take care of this little problem, Sutton? Because we can’t leave here without it being resolved.”
“It won’t be a problem by the time you load the horses up in the carrier tomorrow afternoon.”
He nods, and I toss the ledger onto the table before leaving.
It only takes me a few minutes to find Tate. Her strokes are carving across the water, one confident strong movement after another. I step toward the edge of the pool so when she reaches it, she’ll notice me.
I told Pete I loved her.
She touches the wall and then looks up to me, lifting her swim goggles off her eyes to her forehead. “Hi.”
But I couldn’t tell her.
“Hi. Should I be worried that you’re swimming laps?” I ask, afraid something is upsetting her enough to make her want to scream underwater.
“Funny.” She rolls her eyes. “Just getting some exercise.”
“Whew.” I smile. “I, uh, have to head into town to take care of a few things.”
Tate treads water but looks confused. “But what about the barbecue?” she asks, referring to the farewell dinner we have planned for the Steely Brothers crew to celebrate four weeks of hard work and, hopefully, pregnant mares.
“I know. I’ll try to make it back in time.” Her eyes narrow, and I know I need to go before she can look too closely and see the rage beneath the surface. “It’s just some loose ends I need to tie up so that Pete can leave with all of the i’s dotted and t’s crossed.”
“I’m sure he’d be fine if you took care of it tomorrow so that you could join us tonight.”
“I’m sure he would, but I don’t want to give him any reason to head back with doubt of any kind.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Hurry back.”
“I will.”
And when I walk away, I hate that the lies keep piling up.
But is it really lying when I’m doing it to protect the person I love?
47
JACK
Luckily, Ginger’s directions where to find the Destin twins are spot-on. The parking lot of the strip mall located in the next town over is well lit and void of any cars. I look at the storefronts for a dry cleaner, a pizza joint, and a silkscreen shop as I drive toward the alley that runs behind the structure.
The back lot is where I find all the cars as well as the door that leads to the hole-in-the-wall bar I’m looking for. The kind with windows painted black and a solid slab door with nothing but a padlock on the outside for security when the establishment is closed.
As if on cue, the dark, four-door sedan rolls up and parks right outside the entrance. Ginger said that one of the brothers stops by every two hours to take wagers and make payouts. I guess tonight is no different.
Before I can think this through rationally, I let the rage that brought me here spark to life as I climb out of the truck. Each step ratchets it higher. Each sidewalk panel I cross allows it to build.
When the driver’s side door opens and the bald brother steps out, I don’t give him a second to think before my fist plows into his nose.
The crunch of my knuckles on his cartilage is sickening and satisfying at the same time. But I don’t revel in it. I’m too enraged, too focused.
Before he can recover, I have my hands fisted in his shirt and am slamming him against the car hard enough for his skull to bounce off it.
I don’t care about the blood pouring out of his nose.
I don’t think twice about it being just him and me in a dark parking lot or that he might be carrying a gun—it is Texas, after all.
My only thought is Tate.
