Before Jericho could even answer, Felix was leaning forward. “A retired Fed who saw some guy with our sister but then didn’t say anything until your rich boyfriend started poking around? Why did he wait?”
“I never said Atticus was the friend,” Jericho pointed out.
“You don’t have any other friends besides us,” Levi said.
Christ. They were relentless. “Fine. Yes. Atticus has a friend and that friend gave me the information. Information he didn’t have until now.”
“You’re hiding something,” Nico assessed. “Why not just tell us the truth? You know your brother isn’t going to let this go.”
Felix’s chin jutted forward, his gaze hardening.
Jericho shook his head. “It’s nothing. The information is legit. Can we just move past this and on to finding out who this guy was?”
They all shook their heads in unison.
“You wouldn’t let us get away with being this dodgy,” Seven pointed out.
He wasn’t wrong. But Jericho was a big fan of do as I say not as I do. He didn’t want to have to explain where he got this information, but it was clear they weren’t letting this go.
“No. Not until you tell us the truth. You don’t lie to us. We’re your family,” Arsen reminded him.
They were hitting him with the big guns. They were his family. He was theirs. They knew more about each other than their blood kin. They each had enough on the other to bury them, to send them away forever if they wanted. But they never would. They would never rat each other out. They’d die first. That was what made a family in Jericho’s world.
Finally, he sighed. “My friend’s brother-in-law is a retired FBI agent. But he’s also—” He hesitated, knowing what was about to happen. “He’s also a psychic.”
The sudden silence was deafening as he stared at several shocked faces. Then chaos erupted, each of them talking over the other.
Nico scoffed. “Bullshit.”
“Are you crazy?” Levi asked.
Arsen frowned, seemingly confused. “Psychic, like they see the future?”
Finally, Felix said, “You can’t be serious. You fell for some psychic’s lies? You would be the first person to tell us this was all bullshit.”
“You didn’t pay him, did you?” Lake asked.
Jericho could feel himself getting angry. “It’s not bullshit, and I didn’t have to pay him anything. I didn’t even ask him to be there. Atticus set it up. He wanted to help.”
“Of course, he did,” Felix sneered.
“Psychics aren’t real,” Seven pointed out, looking disappointed in Jericho.
“Yes, they are.”
They all turned to Cree, who’d been silent up until that point. He leaned against the wall, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest. He was…pretty. Long chestnut hair that flowed past his shoulders and huge eyes so dark they were almost black. He was one hundred percent indigenous—part of the Nehiyawak tribe. He’d been adopted at the age of five by ‘good Christian’ parents, who had treated him like a second class citizen since his arrival.
“My grandfather had the gift. It’s real,” he said, his tone final as if he wouldn’t hear another word to the contrary.
It worked. Cree never wasted his words. He only spoke when he could think of no other way to emote his feelings. He was smart and shy and was always watching. He always picked up on the minute details the others glanced over in their excitement. The others accepted Cree’s declaration at face value, turning back to Jericho.
Seven tilted his head, his gaze piercing. “So, what do we do if we find this guy? Make a citizen’s arrest?”
“Nothing,” Jericho said adamantly. “You do nothing. You come directly to me. Nobody else.”
“It’s been eight years. How do you even know this guy’s still on this side of the ground?” Felix asked.
“I don’t. I don’t know anything, but even if he’s dead, he’s bound to have had other friends. Somebody will remember Mercy.”
