Page 3 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“Never gonna stop trying to bring you out into the world, Gav. I get you might like your introverted shit, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”

“I got a gym in my building.”

“Which you go to at three in the morning so you don’t have to see anyone else there.”

“But the important part is, I do. Run. Lift heavy shit. Stay healthy.”

“I’m talking about your mental health, not your physical.”

“I read a lot. Watch my documentaries. Do the crossword puzzle…”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“And you’re beating a dead horse.”

“If that’s what you call caring about my brother, then sure.” He got to his feet too, grabbing his coffee that looked comically small in his big hand. “I will let you know what our guy figures out.”

“Send over resumes if you want for new truckers.”

“Yep. Will do.”

With that, I moved out the door, stepping into crisp early afternoon air.

I knew better than to get excited about the seasons changing and start bringing out my cool season clothes. It was false fall. There would be another few weeks before the weather stopped being temperamental. But I enjoyed my walk back to my apartment more than I had since the days started to stretch long and insufferably hot.

Hell, I was pleased enough to even make a few stops along the way—getting shouldered by strangers and stuck behind slow-walkers—to grab some household essentials before dipping into a bookstore.

“Well, well, well,” a voice called, making me turn away from a table of new releases.

New York was a massive city. Eight and a half million people. But the way I couldn’t seem to go five blocks without running into someone in my family made it feel like a small town.

Sure, a case could be made for our parents’ generation fucking like rabbits and pushing out obnoxious numbers of kids.

Still.

It was borderline ridiculous.

Though, technically, Alara wasn’t my blood. She was the sister of Brio’s wife. But she’d been around long enough that she was deeply ingrained in our life. Hell, sometimes I got the feeling that she knew us all better than everyone else. She sure as fuck asked a lot of questions. Like she was cataloging the information away for some reason. Sometimes, I imagined her in front of a stalker board with little red strings connecting us.

If I had my family gossip right, she’d hooked up with Christopher, who’d just moved back to the city.

“If it isn’t the most elusive member of the Costa Family. Out in the wild.”

Beside her stood a tween girl cradling a stack of chunky fantasy books to her chest.

“Who’s that? Baby sister I don’t know about?”

“This is Charlotte. She’s Christopher’s niece.”

Huh.

I didn’t remember him having a niece.

Then again, I hadn’t heard much from that particular member of the family in a long time.

“Are you getting that?” Charlotte asked, nodding toward where my hand was sitting on a book.

“Thinking about it.”