Across the Vanishing Sky (Starlight Grove, #1)(38)

“What do you want, Dexter?” Miller ground out.

“All reports relating to Nova Monroe.”

Miller’s eyes flashed, turning a golden color. But it wasn’t anything like the gold in Brae’s eyes. His was all anger and meanness, no life in it at all. “Why am I not surprised she got mixed up with the likes of you? I wonder if anyone’s told her who you really are. What runs in your veins.”

It took everything in me not to let his blows show on my face. Not to let the rage take hold. But I kept a smile fixed in place as I tapped the papers on the counter. “I trust you’ll respond in a timely fashion. I’d hate to have to see if my FBI colleagues have any contacts at the California Department of Justice who might be interested in a case of negligence and corruption.”

Splotches of redness erupted on Miller’s neck and cheeks. “Get the hell out.”

I gave him a mock salute, knowing it would only piss him off more. “I’ll be seeing you, Ezra.”

And with that, I stalked out into the bright May sun. I sucked in air the moment I was outside. Cleaner than DC air. A hint of pine clung to every molecule of oxygen, even downtown. I tried to focus on that, picturing it cleansing me from the inside out.

If only it could. If only it could wipe away every infected strand of DNA. If only it could cure what lay in wait.

But it couldn’t. And I had to live with that.

I wasn’t ready to climb back into my SUV or sit behind a computer screen. I needed to move. My fingers twitched at my sides, and I knew I needed to ask Kol about the gym a town over that he worked out at. Or hit a trail. There was nothing like climbing up the side of a mountain to burn out everything that was eating you up inside.

Instead, I found myself walking down the block until I reached the black wood siding of the Boot. I told myself I stepped inside with the goal of seeking out my brother, but I was a fucking liar.

The place only had a couple of patrons now that it was past the lunch rush and before the dinner crowd. Aidan refilled condiments at one end of the bar as Cora rolled silverware into napkins next to him. I could just make out the cook, Fiona, through the pass-through window, washing dishes. I didn’t see Wylder and knew he was likely in the back, cursing over order forms or bookkeeping. But then, I saw her.

Brae’s hair was out of the two braids now, but her golden strands still held the wave of their earlier arrangement. They cascaded down her back, falling around her in the kind of curtain I ached to sift through with my fingers. I wanted to tug the strands so her face tipped back and I could take that perfect damn mouth and—fuck.

I tried to think of anything but what Brae would taste like. Would her morning coffee still cling to her tongue? Or would she taste like pure sunshine?

Because that was what she looked like. A braid at her crown held the waves back, khaki shorts exposed tanned, muscular legs, and she had on those shoes that were an explosion of color. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was Owen who had doodled all over her white high-top Converse.

As if sensing eyes on her, Brae lifted her head. She took me in for a beat of one, two, three as she paused mid-wipe at a table. And then she was striding toward me, tucking the rag into her back pocket.

She might’ve been tiny, but she crossed the distance in the blink of an eye. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” But my voice was too tight, my throat strangling every word.

“Oh, I don’t know, Buttercup. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve got storms gathering in your eyes. Or that your hands are fisted so tightly, you look like you’re going to break a knuckle. Or that you’re making your earlier glowers and glares look like sunny smiles.”

I wasn’t sure how, but she somehow made me want to smile in that moment. Her no-bullshit, cut-straight-to-the-point-while-giving-me-shit way eased something inside me. The honesty of it.

“Sheriff Miller is a prick.” It was the most honesty I could manage, but it was something.

A hint of surprise hit Brae’s golden eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.” But those eyes searched deeper, pulling together pieces I both wanted her to see and desperately wanted to hide. “Something he said got to you.”

Right to the point. That was my hellion. Never pulling a damn punch.

“He goes for the jugular every time.” But that wasn’t exactly right. “No, he goes for the sucker punch.”

“He goes for the tender spots. The injured ones,” Brae said softly. Her slender throat worked as she swallowed, and I swore I could feel her warring with herself to let something go. “He almost made me quit looking once. Got me that good.”

“What’d he say?” I had no damn right to ask, but the words tumbled out anyway.

Those golden eyes lifted to mine, darkening with pain and doubt. “Told me I shouldn’t be taking time away from a son who needed me to chase a ghost because I felt guilty. That my kid deserved better.”

A different sort of rage caught fire in my veins. Because I saw exactly the kind of mother Brae was. She was the kind who gave everything for her kid but still second-guessed if it was enough. Because she cared. And that bastard had twisted her up about it.

“He’s a goddamned fool. But a manipulative one. And he loves to get in a kidney shot,” I growled.

Brae’s lips pressed together in a half smile. “Felt more like an ovary punch, but he certainly fights dirty. And he’s smart enough to get in the kill shot, take a half-truth and twist it. Because I do feel guilty.” Those golden eyes turned glassy. “Because I wasn’t there when Nova needed me.”