The reporter’s face disappears, replaced by someone I immediately recognize.
Sam Reeves.
Lead Investigator, Sam Reeves.
Ryan’s former FBI partner.
The man who had lent us his vacation home on what turned out to be one of the last truly happy days Ryan and I had together. Seeing his face on that screen does something complicated to my chest.
Sam stands at the podium with calm, measured authority, and when he speaks, the room around him goes quiet.
“We want the people of New York to know that we are doing everything within our power to bring down those responsible for today’s shooting. What we can confirm is that a black SUV carried out a drive-by outside Café De Pasa, where five members of the El Paso biker gang were dining, including their president, Angel. All five were killed.”
The screen cuts to shaky phone footage with a black SUV moving slowly past the restaurant, a figure leaning from the back window, balaclava down, shotgun raised.
“If anyone recognizes this vehicle or this individual, please contact the police immediately.”
A journalist raises her hand. “Is it true the cartel was behind the shooting?”
Sam straightens slightly. “At this point, it could be anyone. We are not ruling out any person or organization.”
Another voice cuts through from the crowd. “But isn’t it true that Clemente has been seen here in New York?”
The air leaves my lungs.
Clemente? He’s here?
Sam clears his throat. “Yes, that is correct. Clemente is in New York and is being questioned. However, we are not ruling out any other individuals at this stage.”
The press conference continues, but I can barely take it in. My mind is turning everything over.Could it have been Tate? The Blood Brothers?It’s all so tangled, and I know I’m only seeing the edges of something much bigger. What I do know is that Tate was furious at the El Pasos. They’d played him and made him believe they were on his side when they were working against him the whole time. And they were connected to Ryan’s death. I feel that in my bones.
Reaching over, I mute the television and sit in the sudden silence with the screen still flickering in front of me.
Three months of grief.
Two months in this apartment.
Pasta bowls, early bedtimes, and the photograph of the three of us on my nightstand.
Vixen Falls feels like somewhere I used to live.
I can’t do this anymore.
Tate is going to be furious with me.
But I don’t care.
I’m going back to New York.
Chapter Five
TATE
“Fuck yes!” I yell, raising my glass toward my men. “You made me proud, every single one of you. We got justice for my brother today.”
The clubhouse erupts around me, glasses raised, voices loud, the kind of noise that comes from men who’ve been carrying something heavy and just put it down, even if only for a moment.
We just got back from Vegas after three days on the road, and I’m still running on adrenaline and very little sleep.