Page 10 of Man of Lies

"Coffee and grilled chicken," he said, settling back and sipping his ice water. "God, you're fun, Beaufort."

"Says the man whose idea of branching out is spicy mayo on his po'boy," I shot back.

He grinned, completely unashamed. One of his most annoying qualities was his total indifference to other people's opinions. "Hey, I know what I like. You, on the other hand, act like food's a necessary evil. It's honestly a little sad."

I took a long pull from my coffee when it landed on the table, scalding the back of my tongue. It hit my stomach like straight vinegar, and I dug into my pocket for a roll of antacids. "Yeah, well, I'm not here to enjoy myself."

"No kidding," he said, his grin slipping into something more like a grimace. "You're lucky I like you, or I'd have ditched your ass back in college."

"You'd have failed macroeconomics without me."

He laughed, hooking one arm over the back of his chair, straining the buttons of his crisp dress shirt. It looked like something he'd ripped off a department store mannequin. His eyes were pale and shrewd as they studied me. "So, how's it going with Sheriff Vanderhoff's warrant history? Any leads on why every judge in this parish rubber stamps his no-knock warrants?"

Just like that, my mood soured. "It's like slamming my head against a brick wall."

He nodded, taking a sip of his tea. "Keep at it. Guy's slippery as an eel, but he can't wriggle out of the net forever."

Vanderhoff was a thorn in every Beaufort's side. He and Boone had hated each other in that quiet, genteel way of old Southern families—cold smiles at Sunday service, daggers at the country club. But when Boone adopted us, his disdain boiled over. He made it his personal mission to keep us in line, throwing every petty charge he could at us as kids: vandalism, disorderlyconduct, even a bogus theft charge that cost me a summer in court when I was sixteen.

When Ben accidentally snapped the neck of Gage's old man, Vanderhoff seized his chance. He handed the murder case to the DA, Preston Vaughn, on a silver platter. And for reasons I still couldn't understand, Boone hadn't fought back—not like we wanted him to. He'd thrown money at Ben's defense, hired the best lawyers, but it wasn't enough.

Now, Boone was dead, and the wounds were still fresh. We didn't forget. We didn't forgive. I'd tear through every warrant, informant, and case Vanderhoff had ever touched until I found anything I could use against him.

As if reading my mind, Colt said quietly, "You haven't asked how Ben's doing."

There it was; the topic we'd been circling around. Colt always knew how to push the one button I was trying to avoid. For a man so self-centered, he could be annoyingly perceptive when it came to Ben.

My fingers spasmed around my coffee cup, and I carefully set it down before I snapped off the handle. "You tell me," I said tonelessly. "He's barely spoken to me since he got out."

Colt didn't reply. One of his talents was provoking people to talk without saying much. I recognized the trick, and still, I found myself adding in a rough voice, "He's completely shutting me out."

"Maybe he is," Colt said, watching me sympathetically. "But that doesn't mean it's your fault. He doesn't blame you for not getting him out sooner. You know that."

"Yeah?" My tone was so sharp that I startled the woman at the table across the aisle. I gritted my teeth and lowered my voice. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because that's not the kind of guy he is." Colt took a swallow of sweet tea and furrowed his brow. "I think he just needs time. He's fine physically, but emotionally… it can't be easy, you know? He doesn't sleep well. Locks every door in the apartment. Jumps if I walk up on him too fast. He can't let his guard down. Not with Vanderhoff and the DA breathing down his neck, ready to punish him for embarrassing them."

"Sounds like you know him better than me these days," I said bitterly.

Colton studied me, pale eyes flicking across my face like he was weighing my words. He wasn't big on coddling emotions, so he kept it simple. "Help me take down Vanderhoff. Once he's behind bars, Ben will have room to breathe. Then you can deal with whatever's going on between you two."

The waitress chose that moment to set down our plates. "Y'all need anything else?"

"No, ma'am," Colton said smoothly, flashing a grin that had her twinkling back at him.

While I chased a cherry tomato around my plate with my fork, Colton dove into his sandwich like a man who hadn't spent the day marinating in frustration. When he finished, he dropped his napkin onto his empty plate and patted his stomach with a satisfied sigh.

"Back to the grind," he said. "I'm heading to the Dead End to dig into some leads."

My head shot up in surprise. "The biker bar?"

"I guess." Colt shrugged apathetically. "The guy who took over running it—McKenna? He's courting trouble. The place is a hotspot for lowlifes. Word is the sheriff and his deputies look the other way whenever something goes down, and I want to know why."

My blood pressure spiked, and my fingers spasmed around my fork. I forced myself to set it down before it clattered. Colt was too busy watching a woman on the sidewalk to clock my reaction, but I still felt cornered. He'd see right through me the second he took a closer look.

His next question snapped me back to the present. "You know anything about McKenna? He's not exactly your type of company, but you both ride bikes. I figured word gets around."

I knew plenty. I knew the smoky rasp of Silas's voice, the scent of leather and whiskey that clung to his skin, the way my body responded to a single cut from his dark, laughing eyes. But that was my dirty little secret.

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