“Not the brother?”
Natetched his tongue and shrugged. “Could be. He’s been in enough trouble since. Not a family I’d want to get involved with.”
The photo on the blog was a few years old. Morgan’s eye was swollen shut in it, and he had the sort of bad haircut you only got from prison shears. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be good enough to put a name to his actual face. He’d been wrong.
“That’s all a misunderstanding,” he said. “Excuse me—”
Nate held up a hand to stop him. “A word to the wise, son,” he said. Morgan strangled the urge to punch the sanctimonious words back down his throat. “No one needs this dredged back up again. No one is going to throw you a parade. If I were you, I’d get out while you can.”
“If you were me, you’d get laid more,” Morgan said. “Get out of my way.”
“Of course,” Nate said as he stepped pointedly to the side. A sweep of his hand indicated the door. “Enjoy your day, but remember, Captain Macintosh isn’t on your side, Mr. Graves. All he wants is to close the most mishandled case of his career.”
“And you’re just telling me that out of the goodness of your heart?” Morgan asked as he studied Nate. “Try again.”
The quick there-and-gone smile twitched over Nate’s face again. He tucked his hand into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and pulled out a dog-eared business card for Morgan.
Judge Nathan Fernfield.
For a second, Morgan drew a blank. Then he remembered the picture in the blog and his arm around Boyd’s shoulders as they limped home.
“I kicked your son’s ass,” he said.
“And took his money,” Nate said. “I could live with that. He’s my son, but he’s… hardly going to make anyone proud. However, heis stillmy son, and I don’t want him dragged into the middle of this fetid investigation. I don’t want mytowndragged into the middle of this. I think we’ve all paid enough for someone else’s sin.”
The phone in Morgan’s pocket juddered against his hip bone. He absently put his hand over it.
“What’s your point?” he asked. “I mean, I knew you wanted something, but I thought it was just my ass.”
Nate made a sour face, thinned lips and flared nose, and looked around quickly to see if anyone had heard. No one had. The only other people in the shop were a young mother, huge sunglasses on her tanned face despite the fact that she was inside, and her toddler down in the children’s nook at the back, primary-colored books tucked in around toys and a train set, and the clerk who still hadn’t taken his eyes off the computer. When Nate turned back, he’d gotten himself back under control. The only things that betrayed him were two spots of dull red high on his cheekbones, as though someone had pressed down with their thumbs on the weathered skin.
“I don’t appreciate the attitude,” he said. “All I want to do is protect everyone involved, including you.”
Liar.Morgan pulled out his phone and glanced down at the screen to give himself a moment to hide his contempt. It wasn’t even a good lie.This is for your own good.That was the sort of lie you told a child, not a grown man.
It was Boyd’s number. Morgan tightened his fingers around the phone case and wondered if Boyd was really so desperate that he’d overlook last night. Did he think Morgan hadn’tmeantit when he said there was nothing in town to keep him here?
He hadn’t meant it, of course, but those were the sort of lies you told adults.
“I have to go,” Morgan said. Then he didn’t, although he couldn’t say exactly what stopped him. He supposed he just wanted to see whether Nate went with a counteroffer or threat.
Nate ran his tongue over his teeth and scratched his throat. “I’m a judge, boy,” he said. “You’re going to get out of my town. It’s up to you whether I make your life easy or difficult on the way out. Call me if you decide to make the right choice.”
The phone had gone still in Morgan’s hand. That Boyd had given up right that moment seemed like a sign.
“What’s it worth to you if I go quietly?” he asked.
Nate smiled. For the first time it looked real. “Call me,” he said. “And we can discuss that.”
He stepped back from Morgan and strode into the back of the store, arms out. “Darling,” he said as the woman in the sunglasses stood up to greet him. “Sorry I’m late. I have a change of clothes in the car.”
It probably wasn’t as cool a car as Shay’s, but Morgan would put money on it being more expensive. If twenty grand would get him over the border, forty or more, and he could even pay Boyd back.
Morgan looked at the card again and then tucked it safely into his back pocket. He needed out of this town, out of Sammy Calloway’s shadow, and if Mr. Fernfield was willing to pay him to do something he was going to do anyhow? Why the hell not?
The picture of Sammy splashed over the book on the shelf stared at him accusingly. What did he know, though? Morgan dragged his gaze away and ducked out through the door onto the street. It was bright after the dim, mood-lit bookshop, and Morgan squinted as he flicked open his phone to call Boyd back.
It could be important, he told himself when his thumb hesitated. Maybe they’d realized he wasn’t Sammy and were going to ship him back to jail. It was possible some new evidence had solved the whodunnit, and he was free to go. Or Boyd wanted to talk to him.
