Page 38 of Property of Bull
I recite it to him, wondering where that is going when Stryker shifts in his seat. I bite down on a smile, understanding that while he might know Clark, he’s probably not one to cooperate with law enforcement quite this much.
“I’m pretty sure Granddad wants his killer caught,” I whisper to Stryker before shifting my eyes back to the sheriff. “And I did not do it.”
“I know,” Clark mumbles as he makes notes on the pad in front of him.
“You do?” I ask, wishing I didn’t sound so surprised.
“Miss Tucker, I spent twenty-five years on the force in Chicago and the past ten years out here. I saw and heard you last night. A man you very clearly cared about was taken from you. Just do us all a favor and stop saying it’s your fault he’s dead. I’m wanting all the boxes checked on this investigation and you saying that, on top of Jason’s screaming, is why I called you in here today,” he says as he takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am curious to know why your uncle, half-uncle, whatever, is screaming about your grandmother killing his mother, the second, sorry—third Mrs. Tucker. And why he thinks he has the only valid will.”
“I have absolutely no idea,” I tell him, doing my damnedest to keep a straight face. “My dad will be here in the next day or so, but he never mentioned anything about his mom killing anyone.”
“Could you please stay until I’ve spoken to your grandfather’s lawyer? Maybe another hour or so?” he asks, looking between Stryker and myself.
“I need to see to some arrangements at the funeral home,” Stryker says. “Can we leave if I guarantee that we’ll be back in ninety minutes?”
“I’d ask that Miss Tucker stays here,” Clark replies, locking eyes with the man at my side.
“It’s alright, Stryker,” I tell him. “Honestly, I’ll just put my head down on the table and try to sleep a little.”
“If I leave, can I rejoin Margo without any issues?” Stryker asks him next and I give Clark a nod that I want him with me. I’m sure Granddad’s lawyer would sit with me if there was any further questioning, but Stryker keeps me calm.
“I should have the fingerprint report back shortly, if I don’t find anything out of the ordinary there, I’ll permit you to reenter. Miss Tucker, there’s a couch in my office that’ll be much more comfortable,” Clark replies to us both. “I will warn you there’s also a camera in the upper corner of the office that records any time there’s movement.”
“The couch sounds better,” I say, nodding again.
“I have a blanket in the back of the SUV,” Stryker says, squeezing my hand. “I’ll get it for you.”
Five minutes later, I’ve changed rooms. Another few minutes later, Stryker has tucked me in and given me a kiss that has me grinning ear-to-ear.
“Hey,” I call out before he pulls the door shut. “I do trust you.”
“Love you, too, babe,” he says so softly I almost miss his words.
Chapter 11
Bull
“Frost, wrap that shit up and get back here.” I call him as I’m walking to the funeral home.
“Thunder and the prospects should be there in the next couple of hours. I’m just crossing some Ts,” he replies. “Halo told me I’ve missed a lot in the past two days. About Tucker and now you’re claiming his granddaughter.”
“Yeah, what do you know about her uncles?”
“Two of them are steady, two are shady. Their kids are mostly fuck-ups,” he replies, obviously expecting the question. “We’ll talk when I’m back.”
“Yeah, I’m especially interested in knowing why Jason Tucker’s at the sheriff’s office screaming that Margo’s grandmother murdered his mother and now he thinks she’s killed her grandfather.”
“If he yells too loud, you tell Clark to check out Justin’s markers in Deadwood,” Frost suggests. “His dad dying leaves him without anyone bailing him out when he needs it.”
“Solid. Safe travels,” I grunt in reply.
Frost is as true a brother as anyone in the Kings could ask for. Except he was my father’s man and was pissed when the votes came in and I skipped the line, becoming President instead of him.
He walks a fine line, even though four years have passed. He knows everything about the locals, only giving up information when it suits him.
Bronco and Thunder have become more and more reserved around him, while I choose to believe he’ll put his ego aside andhave my back when I need him. Only time will tell if I’m being a fool about that.
A long-standing rule that my dad had was to never walk in the front door of the funeral home wearing a cut. His people were in the burial business long before there were motorcycles and no matter that everyone in this chunk of South Dakota knows Dad and I are part of the Kings of Anarchy, they’re willing to overlook it. As long as we dress the part.
