“Alright,” I said, climbing off my bike at the edge of the narrow road to trek it toward the rope bridge on foot.
It was sweltering out here, the humidity at damn near a hundred percent thanks to all the water. Sweat beaded up but couldn’t cool me off.
I was just putting my foot on the first rope slat when a shotgun fired off, startling some parrots in the trees, making the sky flash in vivid color that I only noticed for a moment as my focus went right to the front porch.
Where Nathaniel Lane stood, shotgun aimed at the sky.
He was tall and fit with a full head of dark hair, medium-brown eyes, and a thick mustache.
“Next one goes in your chest if you don’t tell me why the fuck you’re on my property.”
Well, he was direct; I had to give him that.
“I’m here about your daughter.”
“What do you know about my daughter?”
Here was my chance to really prove that I wasn’t fucking with him.
“I know that she wears a bracelet with a handcuff key. And that she can’t cook for shit. And that she likes movies enough that when you were traveling, you always made sure to rent places close to a movie theater, so she could go anytime she wanted.”
Nathaniel’s jaw worked side to side for a second.
“So, you’re here about my daughter.”
“Yes, sir. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out. She’s been stalked, shot at, chased, and injured by someone for the past few days. And now… now he’s got her.”
“He got her,” he repeated, voice as dark as his eyes went, but everything else about him remained calm. “That why your face and knuckles look like that?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Get over here and talk to me while I grab some more portable guns.”
I didn’t waste any time rushing across the ridiculously inconvenient rope bridge. By the time I got across it, I was out of breath and my palms felt raw from gripping the damn sides so hard.
Nathaniel left the door open, so I moved inside.
It was kind of what I expected. Masculine. A little under-decorated. Like Noa’s safe house, it was one big room with leather furniture and a large bed.
Unlike Noa’s safe house, the kitchen actually looked like he used it. There was a pot full of soapy water in the sink. And a gun sitting out on the counter.
In fact, there were guns just about everywhere: the nightstand, coffee table, mounted on the damn wall.
The only other thing on the wall, though?
A collage of pictures of Noa.
It was surprisingly sentimental for a hard man.
I couldn’t stop myself from walking over, spotting the round-faced baby, the golden-haired toddler, then the darker-haired kid and teen.
Caught staring, I looked back at Nathaniel who’d come back from digging through his foot locker.
“Remind me when all this is over to give her shit about the goth phase she conveniently ‘forgot’ to tell me about.”
That got a huff out of him.
“Okay. Tell me what’s been going on.”
