Page 100 of Smoke Screen
Phin lifted one finger, made an imaginary check mark. “Check.”
On his way by, Special Agent Blackwell met his eye. “Federal investigation.”
“Check, check. If I’m not back in ten, he’s killed me.”
This wouldn’t exactly bea barrel of monkeys.
On his best day, Reid Steele was a pain in the ass. Loud, opinionated, unfiltered. All of it wrapped in a six foot three body that had served him well as a Green Beret until a career-ending knee injury.
Now, he was back in Steele Ridge and had brought Gage, his former teammate and friend, onboard to help him run a law enforcement training center. Rumor had it that Jonah, Reid’s billionaire brother, had made Reid a partner after buying the property. Only right since he’d put in the sweat equity on the project.
One thing about Reid, he didn’t pull his punches. If he had questions about Blackwell family secrets, he—as just evidenced—went to the source. None of this small-town gossip shit.
Reid pushed through the sheriff’s station’s main entrance with Phin on his heels. He turned right, heading to the parking lot where his pickup sat gleaming in the sun. They reached the lot and Reid turned, crossing his arms over his chest.
Waiting.
Out of all his brothers, why was Phin the one trying to talk his cousin down?
Because he could. Phin had the patience for a guy like Reid. A guy notorious for peppering you with unrelenting questions that would no doubt become offensive.
The trick with Reid was for Phin to make it clear he wasn’t intimidated. Not an easy feat considering Reid’s massiveness.
Mirroring Reid’s wide-legged stance, Phin crossed his arms. “Are you gonna listen? Because if all you wanna do is scream, I don’t have time.”
Reid gave him a vicious glare. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Yeah, he was. And maybe he had a right to be. Brynne, Reid’s wife, was weeks from delivering twins and given the foot traffic on Main Street, had probably been in her shop, half a block away.
Fuck the NDA.
Fuck the feds.
The guy had a right to answers.
Phin held his hand up, thumb and forefinger pinched together. “See this?”
Reid gave him his classic what-the-fuck? face and Phin used his free hand to point to the imaginary document between his fingers. “It’s an NDA. I need you to sign it.”
“Did you receive a head injury during this shooting?”
Phin laughed. Had to. Reid had used his own version of Phin’s two-by-four line on him. “No. But Zeke will go nuts on me if I tell you anything, and don’t get me started on Ash. So, you’re going to sign my pretend NDA and if you violate it and get me in hot water with my brothers, I will hunt you down and kill you. You’re bigger and stronger, but I know how to use a gun.”
“Dude,” Reid said, pretending to sign the invisible NDA. “I definitely think you got a head injury today.”
When Reid finished signing, Phin dropped his hands. “The Thompson Center hired us.”
Reid gawked, his mouth literally falling open. “The former president? That Thompson Center?”
Was there any other? “Yes.”
“Well, well. Y’all have hit the big time.”
Insult number one. Patience, patience. “We’ve been working our asses off the last couple of years. Anyway, the Thompsons.”
Phin gave Reid the shortened version of their work on behalf of the Thompsons, casually leaving out the queen’s collection. Some things his cousin didn’t need to know.
“The guy who got shot,” Reid said. “You think he’s doing a side deal?”
