Page 98 of Golden Touch
I shake my head.
“You’re done.” He grins. “You can walk out of this place unafraid, because that was the last arrest. All the drug runners are in custody. Even better—they know through the grapevine that Razor effed up and walked into our trap and that bikers close to Razor flipped for the prosecution. This isn’t on you anymore. Nobody wants you dead anymore. You’re free.”
Free. It’s all I ever wanted. I spent a whole year wishing I could walk around Vermont unafraid. And now I’d give it all back if I could prevent the brewery fire. I really would.
Benito gets up to wash his hands in the kitchen. “You stay here one more night, okay? Maybe life will look rosier in the morning.”
“Maybe,” I agree. But I know it won’t.
You ruin everything, my mother always said. And I’m afraid she was right.
Benito plucks his jacket off the back of his dining chair. “In other news, now that you’re no longer in danger, this isn’t a safe house anymore. It’s just a house.”
“Cool,” I say dully.
“Yup.” He heads for the door. “That’s why I just texted Nash the address.”
“What?”
With a hand on the doorknob, he shrugs. “Yeah, you two clearly need to work some things out. And he’s on his way back from Boston. He’ll be here any minute, I think. Night, Livia!”
“Benito!” I’m up out of my chair and panicking already. “Now hang on?—”
The door closes behind him.
“Shit!” I scream. I can’t face Nash. I’m not ready.
I willneverbe ready.
CHAPTER 43
NASH
I’ve barely slept in three days. Coffee is my best friend.
Maybe my only friend. Badger and the rest of the brewers are suddenly out of a job. Livia isn’t taking my calls. My dad is an inconsolable ball of rage.
And then there’s my brother Mitch in the passenger’s seat, staring glumly out the window. He’s been in a bit of a mood since the minute I picked him up from Boston’s Logan Airport.
I reach across the gear box and give him a poke. “What are you thinking so hard about over there? Distract me.”
“This place,” he says quietly. “Seems like yesterday I was an eighteen-year-old kid heading for the woods with a pony keg in the back of my truck, thinking that was the height of excitement.”
“It was at the time. But listen, pal. It’s not your turn to be all quiet and broody. Take a fucking number.”
He chuckles quietly. “At least I’m here, right? Ready to do what I can. I’ll stack up sooty bricks or whatever.”
“Your only job is talking Dad off the ledge. He always liked you best.” In the cupholder, my phone beeps. “Can you tell me who’s messaging me?”
“Sure. Happy to be your secretary. Wait—do you have an actual secretary?”
“I have an administrative assistant.” I slow down to let a deer cross the road.
“She hot?”
I snort. “I’m sure her husband thinks so. But I honestly don’t give a damn about that. It would impress me more if she did her damn job.”
“Is her name Melanie?” he asks, gesturing with my phone. “Because someone named Melanie wants you to know that the shipping cartons haven’t arrived yet, and somebody named Chip is mad. Why are they texting you at eight p.m.?”
