Page 79 of Big Bad Wolfe

“Okay, Dean. I have to be honest with you.” Warily watching Dean’s craggy profile, Zane bit the bullet and laid out the terms and conditions of their plan for Casey’s future.

Dean listened in impassive silence while he continued to roll green over black, red, and faded blue.

When Zane finished, he braced for the backlash. “So you see how it is.”

Dean stopped painting. The big man turned to study him, those familiar violet-blue eyes far too perceptive for comfort.

Finally, Dean nodded. “I certainly do.” He gestured amiably. “Go get us another can of paint, boy. We’re almost out.”

Zane stumbled around the corner, leaned back against the clapboard building and closed his eyes. Jillian had inherited more than frankness and perseverance from her father.

His breath hitched. But because of what he’d inherited fromhisfather, he had to walk away from her.

He breathed in. Out.

“Some detective you are,” Farley’s scornful voice mocked. “Wet paint, much?”

Zane opened his eyes, straightened his spine. And peeled himself off the gooey wall. “Dammit,” he muttered, craning to look over his shoulder at his shirt.

Farley guffawed from where he stood by the stacked paint cans holding an empty roller pan. “It’s smeared all down your back, and even in your hair. You totally look like Kermit.”

Zane didn’t hang much with kids, but he’d been one, and got the frog reference. “It’s true … it’s not easy being green.” He wiped sticky fingers on his ruined Levi’s and walked over to pick up another can.

As he watched Farley set the roller pan on the ground, his focus bulleted to the teen’s fingernails and the backs of his hands … stained with traces of red and black he hadn’t been able to completely scrub away.

Farley glanced up. His stare snagged on Zane’s. Shot to his own hands.

“Been doing a lot of painting lately?” Zane asked conversationally.

A flush suffused the boy’s face, deepening his scar. “I don’t have to tell you jack-shit.”

“Your choice. But we can have a friendly chat here, or we can go to the downtown Portland FBI office and talk on a more official basis.”

Farley scowled. “I had to touch-up one of the backdrops after rehearsal last night. That’s a fucking crime now?”

“No. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, harassment, vandalism, and stalking are.”

“Harassing and stalking who?”

“You’ve been in Ms. Ramsay’s neighborhood lately. A long way from home to go skateboarding.”

The teen’s flush flared crimson. “You tailing me? What business is it of yours?”

“I’m a better detective than I appear. And Ms. Ramsay’s welfare is very much my business. Anybody messes with her, they’re messing with me.”

“Yeah, Romeo,” Farley snarled. “I saw the way she looked at you when she first brought you around. Saw her plant one on you when she came out with the coffee today.” His glare scalded Zane. “Since she came back from her days off, she’s wearing a wedding band. So are you.”

The kid was definitely observant all right. Zane considered him. “We eloped. That piss you off?”

“I wouldn’t hurt Ms. Ramsay. Not foranyreason! I …” He gulped, looked down as he too carefully poured paint into the pan. “I … l-like her.”

The kid seemed sincere, but Zane was reserving judgment. “We’re keeping our marriage on a need-to-know basis for the time being. We’d both appreciate it if we could trust you not to mention it.”

“I told you, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. So, yeah, whatever.”

“You know anybody whowouldhurt her, Farley?”

“No. Everybody who hangs around the Center thinks she’s chill.”

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