Page 35 of Coff

“Did you recognize any of them?”

I stare into my brother’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?”

“Who?”

I throw my hands in the air, then wince at the pain. “Who the hell do you think? Rocky Manzia!”

His eyes widen. “Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Is he detained inside?”

“Hey, boss? You need to see this,” an agent calls to my brother.

“We’ll talk later,” he says, then rushes inside.

Well, he’ll find out soon enough that we fucked up his investigation.

“Let me get you to the hospital,” another agent says.

I nod. And instead of dealing with Brian, I leave. He’ll know where to find me.

* * *

Tightening the hoodie around my face, I glance at the crowd. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t help it. Brian actually forbid me from coming. If I can get just a glimpse of her, I’ll be satisfied, then I’ll leave.

I’m standing in front of a random grave about thirty yards from where many people gather around Rocky’s casket.

Another car pulls up, and the moment she steps out, I know it’s Delaney. Her head stays down as another man comes around and places his hand on her lower back.

Her husband.

Okay, so I looked her up after I got stitched up and found some photos of the man. There were no photos of her that I could locate, and she doesn’t seem to have any social media accounts.

They walk toward the crowd. Another man walks behind them. Duke. I recognize him as well. His hair is thinning, and he appears much older than what twelve years would do.

Now I should leave, but something compels me to stay.

Duke glances in my direction, and I turn to focus on the grave. Shit. If he saw me, he might recognize me. Although I’m not the clean-shaven, clean-cut boy of twenty-one he used to know. After an assignment where I had to shave daily and cut my hair short, I said never again. I’ve grown it all back, my hair and beard.

After staring at the headstone for a moment, I turn to walk to my car. Between the wind in the trees or my own thoughts, I don’t hear them coming.

A bag is placed over my head, and what feels like a gun is pressed into my side.

“Don’t say a word.” It’s Duke. I recognize his voice.

They lead me to a car and shove me into the backseat. Only at Rocky Manzia’s funeral would no one bat an eye at my abduction. Although no one is likely paying attention.

Without my vision, I have no idea what I’m up against, so I choose not to reach for the gun strapped to my right ankle or the knife on my left.

The other backseat car door opens, and someone gets in. “Let’s go,” he says, but I don’t recognize his voice.

“Duke, why are you doing this?” I ask.

“You serious?” he asks.

“You killed Rocky,” says the new man.

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you know who did,” Duke says.

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