Hunting Human

  Thirty seconds from homicide, Braden ground out, “A little help?”

  Chase planted his feet and pushed away from the dumpster, his first steps stiff and uncoordinated. The way he had his arm draped across his upper abdomen sent Braden rushing into the alley.

  “Hey,” Chase acknowledged. “Thanks for the ride.” His clenched teeth and labored breathing spoke louder than his forced casualness.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Braden reached out to place a steadying hand under his brother’s elbow.

  “I’m fine.” Chase scowled, wrenching his arm out of Braden’s grip.

  “Oh, yeah, you’re fine.” Braden maneuvered his brother out of the rain and against the wall of the tattoo parlor to gauge the damage. Chase’s hair was damp and plastered against the side of his face, his normally tan skin ashen except for the bluish tinge under his eyes. Judging from the hair along his jaw, he hadn’t shaved since Braden had seen him four days ago.

  He probably hasn’t bothered to change clothes, either.

  To top it off, blood stained the sweatshirt where Chase had his hand pressed against his ribs. Great. Typical Chase: single-minded to the point of self-destruction.

  Braden kept one hand pressing his brother’s shoulder against the brick wall and used the other to try and lift the sweatshirt away from whatever wound his brother was going to insist didn’t exist.

  “Don’t.” Chase barked, tension spiking through his body.

  Braden froze, his wrist caught in Chase’s unyielding grip. It was typical of Chase to laugh off a minor problem or scoff at what he considered his family’s overprotective mothering. But the slight shift in Chase’s stance, the strain coursing through every fiber of his body and the cold defiance in his eyes said Chase felt defensive, cornered. That reaction set Braden’s teeth on edge.

  “I’m not in the mood, Chase.” Braden met his brother’s cold gaze with a steely look of his own. When the grip on his wrist didn’t recede, Braden tightened his hold on Chase’s upper arm and growled, “This isn’t up for discussion. I need to know what we’re dealing with.” The grip on his wrist relaxed.

  Braden slid his arm out of Chase’s grasp and gently took hold of the sweatshirt again. The moment he began lifting the material, Chase shifted his weight further into the wall and dropped his head. For a moment a hunted twelve-year-old stood in place of his brother.

  Braden lifted the shirt and bit back a curse. Chase’s left side, starting above the waistband of his jeans and spreading up through his shoulder, was turning livid shades of blue and black. He’d bet anything the bruising extended along his back as well.

  “Christ. What’d you do? Go ten rounds with a bus?”

  “Actually, I think it was a ’75 Cutlass.”

  “Ouch. Probably would have done better against the bus.” Concentrating, Braden ran his hand gently over his brother’s ribs, none felt broken, thank God, but a six-inch gash wrapped from the underside of his ribs around toward his back. Chase’s sweatshirt had absorbed most of the blood and the cut seemed to be clotting. Still, it looked nasty. “This is gonna need stitches.”

  Chase wrenched his sweatshirt down. “It’s fine. Looks worse than it is.”

  Braden counted backwards from ten. Twice. “Whatever. I’m not having this argument here. I’ll go get the car.”

  “I can walk.” Chase pulled away and started up the alley.

  “Fine.” Braden focused on keeping his mouth shut around his frustration and matching Chase’s pace as they emerged onto the street.

  “I’d have been more fun, sugar.” The blonde from earlier leaned against Braden’s car. She took a long drag from a fresh cigarette and quirked painted lips. “Last chance.”

  “Get in, Chase.” Braden felt his brother’s amusement as he slammed into the car and started up the engine.

  “I could take the car around the block a few times…” Chase offered.

  Braden threw the car into drive and hit the accelerator. “Not a fucking word.”

  “Okay, okay.” Chase shut his mouth and relaxed into the soft leather of the passenger seat.

  Fifteen minutes and two zip codes later, Braden unlocked his jaw enough to speak.

  “What happened?”

  “A ’75 Cutlass Supreme.” A crooked grin pulled at the corner of Chase’s mouth. “I think it was brown.”

  “Watch it, smart-ass. What happened before that? I haven’t seen or heard from you in four days. You’re lucky I haven’t called Dad.” Braden’s knuckles turned white around the steering wheel.

  “I was tracking. You’ll have to forgive me if I forgot my curfew, Mom.” Chase pressed his mouth into a firm line, expressions of exhaustion, pain and annoyance warring for dominance.

  “Did you at least locate the asshole?” Braden merged onto the highway, wincing in tandem with his brother when the car ran through a series of potholes obscured by the rain.

  “Would I have called you if I hadn’t?” Chase rasped through clenched teeth. When nothing but Braden’s stony silence filled the car he elaborated. “Yes, okay. He’s staying at a motel a few blocks over from where you picked me up. I called Jason—he’s tailing him for now. And before you ask, we still don’t know what he’s doing here.”

  “Where does the Cutlass fit in?”

  “Markko left the motel a little after eleven last night; I tailed him. I can tell you he’s been here a few days, he was moving pretty quickly, seemed to know where he was going. I was focused on staying out of his range. I didn’t see the Cutlass tearing out of the alley until it was too late.” Chase shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m lucky it only clipped me.”

  “That car’s built like a tank. I don’t know how you missed it in the first place.” Braden muttered under his breath. Chase unclenched his fist long enough to flip him off.

  “Did anyone see you?” Braden signaled and merged off the highway.

  “Nah.”

  “You sure? We don’t need that kind of complication.”

  “You picked me up, you tell me. Do you really think anyone in that neighborhood gives a rat’s ass if they hit something with their car? Trust me, even if someone saw me, no one gives a shit.”

  Probably a fair assessment.

  In a neighborhood like that, people were used to looking the other way.

  “Fine. Want to explain why it took you more than twelve hours to call me?” After a lengthy pause, Braden cast his brother a sideways glance. “The next words out of your mouth had better be I was unconscious.”

  “You’re hoping I had a concussion?” Chase braced himself against the door as the car sped through the intersection. “Ow! Shit, do you mind?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Braden scowled at the hunched form in his passenger seat. “Don’t change the subject. If you weren’t lying unconscious somewhere, then explain what was going through that thick skull of yours when you decided to wander around with broken ribs and a six-inch gash!”

  “We both know they aren’t broken! And I did my job! I needed to wait until Jason got here to take over the tail. The minute he showed, I called.”

  It was always the damn job with Chase. There had to be a special level of hell reserved for annoying younger siblings. “Your health comes first, dammit.” Anticipating the response, Braden cut him off, “Yes, even over the job.”

  “Would you stop hitting the fucking potholes already!”

  Braden pulled to a stop at a light and turned to his brother, anger vibrating through every muscle. But the words poised on the tip of his tongue slid back, thick and choking, to lodge in his throat. Chase sat hunched over on himself in the passenger seat, what little color he’d gained in the warmth of the car draining from his face. Braden sighed. The only thing worse than arguing with Chase, was arguing with him when he was tired or hurt. And right now he’s both.

  “Is it so much to ask that you take care of yourself? Do you have any idea what it would do to Mom and Dad if you had died out here?” It was a low
blow, but this was an old argument he was determined to win, no matter what it took.

  “I know what I’m doing.” The protest came out tired and halfhearted.

  “I know. And I’m not asking you to go back to school if that’s not what you want.” Braden wished with every fiber of his being that Chase would go back to school. His life could be so much more. “I’m just asking you to take better care of yourself.”

  No reaction. No indication his brother was even listening. Chase just turned his face to the window and stared listlessly out the glass.

  Fine.

  “I don’t want to have to go home someday and tell Lucy you aren’t coming back.”

  Chase didn’t turn to face him but Braden saw him squeeze his eyes shut in the reflection on the window, and then jerk his head once.

  Good enough.

  Impatient honking behind him snapped Braden back into traffic in time to pull through what was left of a yellow light and straight into another rain-filled pothole.

  “You’re aiming for them, aren’t you?” Chase asked through clenched teeth.

  “You bleeding on my leather?”

  Chase leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. “Nope.”

  “Then I’m not aiming for the potholes.”

  A smiled ghosted across Chase’s face.

  “You said Jason’s tailing Markko?” Braden asked, redirecting the conversation.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, then. Jason can handle that for now. We’ll get a couple of others to come and help out if we need to. You can take a few days to rest.”

  “It’s not that bad. The gash tore when I shifted. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

  “A few days rest at my place won’t hurt you.”

  But they might kill me.

  Chapter Seven

  Beth sprayed down the counter and began wiping in quick strokes. Anything to keep her occupied. Every time she had a spare moment a tempest of nerves snared her, dragging her under thoughts that swam in whirling circles.

  “Nervous about tonight?” Angie asked, as she walked out of the kitchen.

  “What?” Oh God, is it that obvious?

  “Well, you’re either nervous or trying to wipe all the varnish off my bar. That’s the third time in the last hour you’ve sprayed it down.”

  Crap. Beth stored the cleaning supplies back under the sink. “Maybe a little, it’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.”

  Angie turned toward her and raised one perfectly penciled eyebrow. “Is that what you’re doing?”

  Heat infused Beth’s cheeks. “Well, I guess. I mean, we’re going to dinner.” A slick wave of dread coursed through her. “Is that a problem?”

  “If it is?” Angie kept her tone casual, but the hand she planted on her hip hinted at a challenge.

  “I…” Unsure how to respond, Beth snapped her mouth shut. She liked Angie, considered her both a friend and a good boss, but she didn’t like the direction of this conversation. She liked being pushed around even less.

  Beth squared her shoulders, met Angie’s gaze and prayed she wasn’t about to get fired. “I’m sorry, Angie, but it really isn’t any of your business.”

  “Good.”

  Torn between relief and indignation, Beth forced her jaw into forming words. “What?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to have to fire you for being a pushover.” Angie’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m sorry.” Angie reached over and gave her limp hand a quick squeeze. “Braden’s like family. He grew up with my boys. I guess I just wanted to gauge your interest.”

  Beth let the breath she was holding whoosh out of her. “Well, you could have just asked! Do you scare all his dates half to death?”

  Angie smiled. “You’re the first.”

  “What makes me special?”

  “Because when Braden looks at you, he sees something special. If I saw him look that way at another woman, I’d have something to say to her, too.”

  “Oh.” Flattery and a fresh bout of nerves battled within her.

  “You know,” Angie said, her voice edging toward serious, “Braden tends to be tenacious when he’s serious about something.”

  “It’s just dinner.”

  “If you say so.” Angie smiled, contradicting her without words. “Now get going.”

  “But I’ve got another hour left on my shift.”

  “We’re slow. Go home. Get ready for your date.”

  “Thanks.” Beth said, already taking her apron off and moving toward the back. A little spare time would be nice. She could redo her hair at least twice.

  “If I’m not around when he picks you up, have fun tonight.”

  Fun, right.

  Her thoughts began to whirl again as she walked toward her Jeep.

  ***

  Braden cursed and pulled the knot of his tie out for the third time. He hated the damn things and generally avoided them whenever possible. He stared himself down in the mirror; the tie would not win. He carefully adjusted the lengths and tried one more time to get it right.

  “Over…under…around…” Braden’s large hands fumbled against the dark green silk as he tried to stuff the thick end of the tie through the knot at his throat. “And through.” Crap. The mirror confirmed what he already knew. Complete disaster.

  “Either he’s in love or he hasn’t been laid in a really, really long time.” Caleb’s voice filtered in from the doorway. “What do you think, Chase?”

  Braden cast a dirty look over his shoulder. He didn’t want to know how long his brothers had been watching him struggle.

  “I’m going with option two. Option one is too damn scary,” Chase answered.

  “Screw you.” And screw the tie. Braden yanked the material from his neck and dropped it on the sink. Wasn’t his style anyway. He tugged the starched collar of his shirt until it lay flat and obedient, then flicked open the top button.

  Much better.

  Braden grabbed his heavy silver watch off the countertop, sliding it onto his wrist as he shoved past his brothers into his bedroom. “When did you get here?”

  “Just in time, apparently. Should we hide the cologne?” Caleb asked through his laughter.

  Busy sorting through the mess on his closet floor, Braden paused long enough to shove his arm through the door and toss out a one finger salute. Was it too much to ask for a matching pair of dress shoes? Under two weeks’ worth of laundry, an old gym bag and some boxes he kept meaning to get rid of, he found one brown shoe and one black.

  Shit. Under the bed?

  Stubbing his toe on God knew what, Braden limped his way back into his room and over to the bed. He dropped to his knees and scanned under the bed; running shoes, tennis balls, a couple of missing CD’s…and one brown loafer. Thank God. He shoved his feet in his shoes and glanced at the clock. “Shit, I’m late.”

  He grabbed his jacket off the bed and crossed the room in four long strides.

  “Forget something?” Chase emerged from the bathroom with Braden’s tie knotted loosely and dangling from his fingertips.

  “I don’t need it.”

  “You need all the help you can get.” Caleb grabbed his elbow before he could escape through the door.

  “I’m late,” Braden countered.

  “Relax, princess. This will only take a minute.”

  Sandwiched between his brothers with no time to wrestle his way out, Braden rolled his eyes. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke that he was both the oldest and the shortest.

  “Hold that.” He tossed his jacket at Caleb and refastened the top button of his shirt in time for Chase to swing the silk noose over his head.

  “What’s he doing here anyway?” Chase asked, tossing his head toward Caleb.

  “Babysitting.” Braden jerked back as the tie cinched around his throat. “Watch it.” He stepped back and caught his reflection in the mirror above his dresser. He had no idea where Chase had learned to tie a tie, but it didn’t look half bad.

>   Chase leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression petulant. “I’m not a kid.”

  “So you’re not planning on jetting the minute I leave?”

  Caleb’s quiet laughter was the only response.

  “Whatever.” Chase didn’t bother to contradict him; his mutinous expression made his feelings clear.

  “Relax, bro. I won’t make you go to bed by nine.”

  Caleb stumbled into Braden. Before the shoving could get out of control, Braden cut in, “Cut it out. He’ll pull a stitch and I am not explaining to Mike why he has to drive all the way back out here.”

  “Buzzkill.”

  Braden ignored him and shrugged into his jacket. “You,” he said as he pointed at Caleb. “Keep an eye on that one.” He jerked his thumb in Chase’s direction. “Mike left an antibiotic and a painkiller. Make sure he takes them with dinner.”

  Palming his wallet and his keys, Braden made for the door. “Later.”

  “Nah, we’ll crash at my place. You know, just in case the mojo you’re trying to buy with that tie actually works.”

  Braden slammed the door on his brothers’ laughter.

  ***

  Beth checked her makeup in the cracked mirror above the hand-washing station in Angie’s kitchen one more time. It would have to do. She’d tried twice to create a dramatic effect with some smoky eye shadow, but what the container advertized as “smoky nights” translated to “murky swamp” under her shaky fingers. Instead, she had settled for the navy blue eyeliner Rachel introduced her to years ago and a neutral shadow.

  God, I’m boring.

  “Nah, natural’s a good look for you, Lizzy. Very Abercrombie.” Beth knew the voice was only in her head, just as she knew the image of Rachel, smiling at her nerves, in the reflection of the mirror was only her imagination. But for the first time, the warmth of Rachel’s memory pierced the bitter pain of her absence.

  The swinging door that separated the kitchen from the café hit the wall with a bang, evaporating Rachel’s reflection. “Girl, you’re gonna knock him dead!” Marianne tore through the doorway, a pint-sized tornado of energy with a bus bin on her hip. “Turn around, turn around.” The dishes rattled against each other as she dropped the entire bin into the sink and came over to take a closer look.