Page 75 of Liar Byrd
“The friend who was supposed to be watching out for his kid has been smoking the money instead of feeding his kid. I came to remind him of his responsibility.”
“So that was the reason for the fight in the jail parking lot?” I ask as we walk back to my truck.
Eyes track us. I keep my gun out. I don’t trust anyone not to ambush us. This town hates us all.
“No. That was his friends getting a jump on me before I could jump him.” His eyes glitter with violence across the roof of my truck. “This was me getting payback.”
“You have a bruised jaw.”
He opens the passenger door. “He has broken ribs. I win.”
And he gets into the car after flashing me a grin.
Shaking my head, I open my door and get in. My eyes return to the people still watching, mostly glaring.
“Why didn’t you take his kid?” I ask Makhi, putting my gun in the glove compartment and starting the engine.
“Take him where?” Makhi arches an eyebrow at me. “With us?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, pulling away. “I see your point.”
Chapter 25
Byrdie
I’m two minutes into Debussy’sClair de Lunewhen I realize I’m not alone.
Ripping my fingers off the piano, I scramble to stand up, my sprained ankle screaming at the sudden, jarring movement.
Behind me, a man calls out, “Don’t stop.”
I turn.
Nash lingers in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the piano. He’s dressed in black denim and a white T-shirt, with his hair tousled as if he recently ran a hand through it. “You play beautifully.”
“I don’t really know what I’m doing.” Boredom and the short distance between the den and the music room inevitably led me to the beautiful grand piano I’d fought so hard to stay away from.
My ankle is healing. It still hurts when I’m on my feet for more than a few minutes at a time, but the sharp pain when I put pressure on it isn’t as bad as it was before.
Pulling his hands from his pockets, he wanders over to the piano as I back away from it. There’s a reluctance in his heavy steps, a sign he’d rather keep his distance. “My mother taught me.”
I haven’t seen an older woman in this house. Just Nance, the housekeeper, and she doesn’t look enough like Nash or even Vonn and Makhi to be any of their mothers.
And I remember there’s a killer in this house, so there must have been a murder victim too, a fact my mind keeps skipping over.
“She’s dead?”
He nods and takes a seat on the black leather piano bench.
My eyes fix on his fingers as he lifts them to the keys, and I hold my breath, eager to hear him play. Seeing him at the piano now, I realize who had been entering and leaving the music room with the door open.Him.
Turning to me, he moves his fingers away from the black and white keys without playing a single note. “How’s your ankle?”
I glance down at said ankle.
I’ve been living in Makhi’s sweatpants and baggy T-shirts these last couple of days. More comfortable than my maid’s uniform, but I feel wrong dressed this scruffy around Nash. He’s my boss, and I’m wandering his house looking like an unemployed guest.
I roll my ankle, and I don’t even make a face. “Better. I can probably move back up to my room and start cleaning again tomorrow.”
