Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
And he’d helped find my sister.
“Your nieces and nephew okay?” His tone got serious.
“Yeah. I got in touch with Will. He agreed to take them in.”
He was quiet for a second. “I’m sorry. I thought you were steering clear of your half-brother.”
“It was him or bring them all to Texas.” My hands fisted around the steering wheel, because I hated having to make that call. Will had grown up mostly away from our family, and because of that, he had a decent job, a good wife, and two beautiful little boys. Taking Shannon’s kids to his house was going to put him in her crosshairs, but Will was local, or more local than where I was. Having Shannon’s kids come here would be a last resort, but it was something I’d do if necessary.
Channing knew I’d been staying away from Will because he’s the one I’d asked to give me updates on Will and his family. Channing had done all of that and more, letting me know my half-brother was on his way to building up a solid nest for his family. He didn’t drink. He didn’t cheat. He didn’t even smoke. The guy was almost a saint, involved in their local church. He’d gotten the white-picket-fence dream, and I was ridiculously proud of him. He’d gotten out. He had his life together.
“That’s a hard one,” Channing added after a moment. “We could’ve taken them in.”
That suggestion got to me. He meant it. My voice was a little rough as I rasped out, “It’s family, you know.”
“I get it, but just saying, if your brother can’t handle when Shannon gets out, we’re a last resort before totally relocating them.”
“If it comes to that, it’d be a legal fight.”
“Which we’ll help with. You know that. You know I can handle your sister.”
He could. Him, all the bounty hunters who worked for him, his sister, his wife, and all their friends too. Channing didn’t know that while he helped me keep abreast of my family members, I kept abreast of him and his family as well. Monroe was never one to back down from a fight, legal or illegal, and he hadn’t changed as he aged.
“I’ll keep you in mind,” I told him.
“Good. Now can we stop talking about serious shit, because judging by the reluctance I’m hearing in your tone, you got something good and personal for me to do for you.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed. “What is it, Broudou?”
“I need you to find a detective for me.”
He started laughing all over again. “Oh, this is going to be good. Brett, just call nine-one-one. You’ll have all sorts of detectives finding you.”
I growled.
He howled louder.
“It’s a Detective Travis, homicide.”
“The fuck? What do you want with a homicide detective? I track down criminals, not cops.”
“That’s none of your business. Can you get me his last name or not?”
“Cool down, Mr. Football Star. Give me the morning, and I’ll give you his last name, his desk phone, his cell phone, any other private phones he may have. I’ll give you his address, his email, anything you want to know. I can do it.”
“I thought you just tracked down criminals?”
He swore, but he was amused. “I can find anyone. You know that.”
Billie… But no. She was mine to track down.
“Just let me know a good time to find him. The conversation he and I are going to have won’t be a pleasant one.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“No. It’s personal.”
“It’s about a woman?” I could hear the intrigue in his voice.
I remained quiet.
He hooted. “Are you and a cop tangling over a woman?”
“Fuck off.” I started to end the call, but repeated, “Tomorrow, Monroe.”
“Yeah, yeah—”
I hung up, a wave of humiliation washing over me.
He was right. Me and a cop? Who the fuck was I? I might dress up in football pads and run after a quarterback, but strip all that away and I was still a criminal who grew up in a trailer park.
I had nothing to lose here, so I dialed Billie’s number one more time.
Her voicemail came on, the automated impersonal one, and after it beeped, I said, “This is Brett. It’s not lost on me that this is my third time reaching out. I’m not sure if I did something wrong, or maybe I read you wrong and this is your way of letting me know you’re not interested. I figure one more time, and I’ll pull back from here. If it’s the case that I did something wrong, I can only say that after I found you Monday night, I felt like finally I got the luck. In my life, that’s not normally been the case. I meant everything I said to you Monday night. Meant what I said in the text. And Tuesday, some things happened that took me out of state, so I’m sorry I wasn’t able to reach out until late. I’d been looking forward to maybe talking you into letting me grill a steak for the two of us. I was hoping for that night, but I’m now realizing I was getting ahead of myself. I apologize for that. So, this is me officially scaling back. If you’d like to have a conversation or even share a text message, know that I’ll be happy to hear from you, maybe learn more about your chickens. I hope things are good on your end.”