“THIS IS RIDICULOUS,” Ledger said through clenched teeth. “He’s a friend.”
Wren, his jeans pulled up but only half-buttoned, leaned into the truck. He pulled his license from behind the visor and held it out to Syder, who looked at it, looked at Wren’s hand, and then waved it away as unnecessary.
Amusement tugged at the corner of Wren’s mouth as he backed up and leaned against the truck. He braced one foot back on the tire, denim pulled tight over his tensed thigh, and crossed his arms. Ledger tried not to be distracted.
It wasn’t easy. He could usually keep his mind on the business at hand, but that wasn’t when he could still feel the dull ache of being well-fucked in his ass and hip bones.
“The Conroys don’t have a lot of friends around here,” Syder said. Then he grimaced. “Never did, to be fair.”
Ledger bent down to pick his shirt up off the road. He gave it a fastidious shake to shed the gravel and bits of grass seed stuck to it before he pulled it on.
“There was you.”
Syder’s mouth turned down sourly at the reminder. “We played poker,” he said. “I never really knew him. Obviously. And you don’t know your friend. In your position, I’d be very careful about who I agreed to meet up with on dark roads. There’s a lot of people who still have an ax to grind with your dad, and most of them aren’t going to ask as nicely as me.”
Annoyance made it difficult to fumble the small navy buttons into their respective holes. Ledger finally gave it up as a bad job and just tucked the shirt irritably into his waistband.
“I’m all grown up, Sheriff,” he said. “And you shot your wad on fatherly advice when you had me committed.”
Syder scowled, his mouth twisted into a hard line. He looked at Wren—which didn’t seem to improve his mood any—and then back to Ledger.
“Maybe I should have apologized to you for that before now,” Syder said stiffly. He fished his mints, the packet down to the nub now, out of his pocket and used his thumbnail to winkle out the last two. “But I wasn’t the only one who thought you were crazy. Who would have believed that Bell had murdered all those people, all without your mom or you kids being involved.”
It didn’t sound like an apology. It sounded like a threat. Not that it mattered since Ledger didn’t care about either one.
“I wanted to get fucked,” Ledger said. “So did he—”
Wren shifted against the car. “I did the fucking,” he said. “Maybe next time, though.”
Syder pointed at him. “There isn’t going to be a next time,” he said. “What’s your game? You going to sell your story to the press? Get some pictures of the murder house? Whatever it is, you aren’t going to get it tonight. The people who lost their loved ones deserve better. Unless it’s to say we’ve found the missing victims, I don’t want to see Conroy’s name in the news again.”
Wren cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Can I quote you on that?”
It was probably the smirk that made Syder drop his hand to his holster as he stepped forward. His boots scuffed on the rough grass as he pointed his other hand at Wren. “Get out of here,” he said, “before I have you arrested for public indecency.”
Wren didn’t move, just looked at Ledger and raised his eyebrows. Ledger thought about it but finally gave a quick nod. Once he had the go-ahead to leave, Wren pushed himself off the truck and scratched one inked shoulder. His dark eyes gave Syder a brief once-over.
“You should think of something better to do with your time,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Friendly advice, that’s all,” Wren said. He stooped down to grab his fouled T-shirt, balled it up in his hands, and tossed it into the truck. “What else would it be?”
Syder didn’t have an answer to that, so he just scowled at Wren and jerked his chin toward the truck.
“Get in,” he said, “and go.”
Wren climbed up into the cab. He slammed the door and hung a bare arm out the window. His soft gray tattoos splattered over his shoulder and down his bicep, and Ledger abruptly realized what they reminded him of.
The shadows of wings.
“You still owe me a date,” Wren said. “This doesn’t count.”
He glanced at Syder and touched his fingers to the brim of an imaginary hat, “Sheriff,” before he drove away.
Syder, hand still on his gun, audibly crunched his mints as he watched him go.
“You know him?” he finally asked as he turned to face Ledger. “I didn’t think you two had overlapped.”
