Tequila Mockingbird (6 page)

A storm fierce and brutal enough to leave four people dead in its wake.

“I’m a cop. We carry guns,” Connor said. He’d tucked his weapon into the shoulder holster he normally kept hidden under the jacket he’d given Forest to wear. It felt odd to wear it openly—brazenly so—but Forest needed the warmth a hell of a lot more than his Glock. “You okay? I’m going to talk to the inspectors, and then I’ll be right back.”

“I’m okay. I’m just… cold inside.”

Connor got a brief nod from the musician, and the barest of sighs slipped its way out of Forest’s leather cocoon. The blond looked lost and more than a little hurt, even though he’d come out of the fray intact. If one could count surviving the slaughter of innocent people intact.

Connor reminded himself to keep things cool between them. Even as some part of him wanted to take hold of Forest’s shoulders and stop the other man from shaking, Connor kept his arms to his sides. Touching the blond would be a mistake—he just didn’t know what exactly it would do to him, and Connor wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out in front of a sea of blue and badges.

There was barely anything left of the Amp’s dining area and even less of its customers.

“Stay here out of the wind,” Connor said, gently moving Forest toward his Hummer. “Roll the windows up and turn on the heater if you need to, okay? I left the keys so you can do that, and if you fall asleep, don’t fight it. Just nap. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I don’t think I can sleep. Too much—I couldn’t
do
anything for them,” Forest whispered, but he let himself be handed up into the Hummer’s spacious seats. “Jules—”

“She’s going to be all right. Let me follow up with the guys here, and I’ll take you over to the hospital,” Connor promised. He was an old hand at soothing away nightmares. It was a pity that this one just happened while they’d been awake. “They’re going to be working on her for a bit, so you won’t be able to see her anyway. The EMT said she was good, just a puncture through the arm, but the docs will want to anchor the bone. I’ll get you over there before they even get her out of surgery, okay?”

“Okay.” The stillness in Forest’s once-lively brown eyes punched a hole into Connor’s gut, and he awkwardly patted the blond’s leg. Forest’s lashes fluttered, and he slid down into the seat’s cradle, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t want to leave Forest there. Not alone. Not shaking from a bone-deep chill born from having Death’s fingers brush against him. And certainly not when his tears were frozen up inside of him, unable to break past the wall of fear some asshole built up around Forest with a spray of hot bullets and cold-blooded murder.

“I’ll be right back,” Connor repeated, as much to reassure himself as Forest. “If you need anything, call over to me.”

All he got in return was a nod, but it would have to do. Closing the door, Connor patted the window and walked over to where his sister Kiki paced off the scene outside the coffee shop.

Of the two girls in the Morgan brood, his flame-haired sister, Kiki, was probably the more serious of Connor’s sisters. While Kiera might have been on her birth certificate, Connor couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been called Kiki, a nickname bestowed on her by a two-year-old Quinn, who’d disliked their mother’s choice of names for their first sister.

It wasn’t until much later they’d discovered it wasn’t a mispronunciation of Kiki’s name but instead Quinn’s random brain pulling up a Chinese word for inner strength and energy—something he thought his ginger-topped, fussy sister possessed in spades.

The chubby toddler quickly became a lanky teenager, then a formidable woman who took up the badge along with most of her brothers and proceeded to kick her ass through the ranks. Now an Inspector, Kiki stood shoulder to shoulder with her partner, Senior Inspector Henry Duarte, her hands waving about as she spoke in quiet tones, reconstructing the event in order to pinpoint where to begin their investigation.

Duarte, an older Hispanic man with a fat mustache and rolling wit, chewed on the end of a pencil as Connor approached. He nodded to the eldest Morgan sibling, his hound-dog eyes thoughtful while he took in the scene, looking from the street back toward the decimated coffee shop.

“Con,” Duarte grunted in greeting. “How you doing,
mijo
?”

“Doing okay, Henry. You caught this one, then?” Connor shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the cold wind chewing its way through his bones. “You and Keeks?”

“Oh, don’t call her that. You’ll get her all spun up.” The inspector rolled his eyes when Kiki turned on her boot heel to head over to her brother. “Ah, too late. Here comes the banshee.”

“And you tell
me
not to spin her up,” Connor muttered.

“Hey, big brother. Come to check up on me like Kane does with Riles?” Kiki’s red mane fought desperately to escape the hair ties she used to pull it back into a double ponytail. Gentle curls softened her vulpine features, but nothing could take the edge out of her Morgan-sharp gaze.

“That would be difficult,
colleen
,” he teased his sister with a slow smile. “Considering I was here before it all happened. What kind of inspector doesn’t know her witnesses before she shakes them down?”

“I haven’t gotten the list yet.” She joined Duarte in a visual reckoning of the area. Pointing to a scatter of casings going from one end of the sidewalk to the other, she gestured with her cell phone, taking a panoramic of the scene. Frowning, she looked at him over her shoulder. “What are you doing down here? Kind of far from home, are we, big brother?”

“
We
are….” Connor searched for an explanation for being in the wide end of Chinatown in the middle of the morning. “Visiting. I know the owner of the place. Places, really.”

“Forest Ackerman?” Duarte read off from his notes. “That the guy you poured into your Hummer?”

For all of his apparent laziness, the senior inspector caught even the smallest of details—including, apparently, Connor’s rescue of Forest from the uniforms, EMTs, and forensics people crawling over the sidewalk and coffee shop.

“Yeah, that’s the guy.” Connor nodded. “His dad caught a few bullets in the parking lot back there. Then someone set his RV on fire—with his body still in it. It’s been a rough few months.”

“Rough is a good word,” Duarte agreed, nibbling on his eraser again. “Even better words? Drug deal gone wrong, and the family’s drinking from the shit river because of it.”

“Marshall—the father—was a casual pot user. Nothing harder than weed. A few hits for acid and rec stuff back in the White Rabbit days, but nothing recent.” He rattled off from what he remembered of Marshall’s rap sheet. “Ackerman’s clean. I’d know if he were on drugs, Henry. I’m kind of trained for that sort of thing.”

“Sometimes we don’t always see what’s right in front of our faces, Morgan,” Duarte replied softly. “Or under our noses. Mind where you step. Fuck up my scene, and I won’t care who your father is. I’ll beat your ass redder than your sister’s hair.”

“Duly noted, sir.” Connor snapped the man a quick salute, watching Duarte amble away before nudging his sister with his elbow. “He’s a good partner for you.”

“Yeah, like I don’t know Dad had him picked out for me like some guardian angel disguised as a basset hound puppy,” Kiki snorted. “Since I’ve got you here, Con, how about if you walk me through what happened?”

“Don’t really know a lot. I was inside. Behind the counter. Forest scalded himself, and Jules—the manager—asked if I’d go help him get something on it.”

“I’ll get back to the manager. What did you see? Did you get a look at the shooter?” Kiki pointed out the trail of casings. “He was using something on auto—semi or full. Maybe something modified or black market.”

“I was shoving Forest under the counter so he didn’t get his head blown off,” Con reminded her. “By the time I got up and had my weapon out, the guy was gone.”

If Kiki’s scowl was any indication, his answer didn’t seem to satisfy her question. “Recognize the weapon? Maybe shoot something like it before?”

“I’m a SWAT cop, Kiki. Not Eliot Spencer,” he drawled. “I can’t just pull the make and model of a gun out of my ass just because I hear it being shot. If I had to guess, I’d say AK because it was a higher tone, and the casings are bigger than you’d find in an M16. Casings will tell you at least what you could be looking at, but you just might find it’s some AR or even an AK variance. Those are harder to control too.”

“And here you said you didn’t know shit.”

“I couldn’t promise shit, brat,” Con replied. “AKs are harder to control on full auto, and ARs are easier to get ammo and parts for. If he was in a car and moving, it would explain why the spray is all over the place. All of this doesn’t matter to Jules or anyone else shot up by this asshole.”

“Jules is the manager, right? I guess she knew you from before because she asked you to look after her boss. Or she just sniffed out that you were a cop from her finely tuned badge-dar?”

“Beforehand. Remember? I did the raid on the RV. I’ve been checking up on Forest to see how he’s been doing. He kind of took a kick to the teeth that night.”

“Were you guys friends before then?” Kiki returned to taking pictures, but Connor could tell her attention was fully on him.

It was a skill they’d both learned from their father, Donal—a misdirection of the eyes gave a witness or suspect a false comfort, a sense of safety to spill their secrets because their interrogator didn’t seem to be listening. It took Connor about ten years to catch on to his father’s tricks, and he’d spilled many a damaging secret before he learned to keep his mouth shut when Donal looked away to do something else.

Being a good older brother, Con’d informed the younger Morgans, but Quinn—the fucker—seemed to have caught on as soon as he was weaned but didn’t see fit to let his older brothers in on the deal until way too many punishment chores were dished out.

Seeing Kiki pull a Donal made Connor smile, then frown when he realized she was trying to pull one over on him.

“What are you asking me, Kiki?” he pressed. “Can’t a man have friends?”

“Seems kind of odd, Con,” she replied with a shrug. “Unless you’re working on something you can’t tell me about. Else why would a SWAT lieutenant come back every couple of days to a place where he’d been on a raid? Just to check up on a dead man’s adopted son? The guy’s an adult, not a little kid. He can’t need much comforting beyond an
I’m sorry about your da, man
. So spill, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Really. I come by and grab some coffee once in a while. See how he’s doing.” Connor pressed his lips together and exhaled hard. “His dad was murdered, Kiki. Imagine how we’d feel if that happened to Da?”

Kiki went silent, and Con knew his words struck deep. “Fair enough. Go on, then. What about the raid?”

“Shit to hell and gone the moment we got out of the truck. We entered the RV after a short investigation from a tip. Someone had a CI say Marshall was doing a heavy meth trade in his motor home. Come to find out, not only was the guy clean, but Horan down in forensics thinks he was shot about an hour before we got there.”

“So a false tip led you to a dead guy?”

“That false tip led us to a dead guy in an RV full of propane. Captain doesn’t know how to slot it—murder or cop-killer trap. Maybe the shooter turned the gas on so it would blow, or Marshall was interrupted while he made dinner and the burner went out in the struggle. We won’t ever know,
colleen
.” Connor shrugged. “Someone—maybe the shooter—left candles burning. The whole thing sparked. I didn’t know he was dead until after I’d pulled him out and handed him over to the med guys. It was a shitty bust all around.”

“What did the CI say afterwards?”

“He’s to the wind. After that night, none have seen him. Captain’s a bit pissed, but there’s nothing to be done about it.”

The squeak of wheels on the road caught Connor’s attention, and he touched his sister’s arm, alerting her to one of the coroner techs moving toward them. Kiki took a step back, moving out of the man’s path as he pushed a sheet-draped gurney past them. She ran her hand over one of the truck’s rails, silent in her contemplation.

Connor dropped his head in respect for the dead passing them, lightly touching the St. Michael’s cross and wings hanging from a leather thong about his neck. “
Solas na bhflaitheas tar éis an tsaoil seo ar do shon
.”

“Light of heaven after this world for you,” Kiki repeated in a soft murmur. They stood together for a moment, watching Death pass them by, before Kiki turned back to her brother. “I hate that this is our family’s business, Con, but at the same time, I don’t want anyone else doing it.”

“Best to take up the sword yourself and defend the village than complain of the wolf that steals your children.” Con cocked his head and stared down at his sister.

“Is that what you’re doing there? With Ackerman in your car, Con? Defending the village?” Kiki eyed him.

“When I’m done with you, brat, I’m taking him to the hospital so he can sit with his shop manager,” he replied. “Catch up with him there. Or talk to him later. He’s a bit shook up right now.”

It was a good enough explanation for why Forest was in his Hummer, certainly one that should have quelled his sister’s curiosity—it just wasn’t explanation enough for the butterflies beating themselves to death in his belly or why the sight of his jacket around Forest’s shoulders tickled at some primal spots in his cock and soul.

Or even why he’d never known those spots existed before he’d held Forest in the middle of an ashen rain.

“Con?” Kiki’s voice penetrated the haze of Connor’s thoughts, and he jerked his attention away from the blond man curled up in the Hummer’s passenger seat. “I’m going to need to talk to him.”

“He was on the ground, Kiki. I know. I shoved him there and told him to stay put.”

“And he listens so much to you that he wouldn’t even look?” She eyed him. “Better than most of the sibs, then.”

“Kiki, you look me in the face and tell me that you’d get up if I shoved you to the floor and told you to keep your head down.” Her gaze met his, challenging him, but Connor stared her down, and she looked away. “He stayed where I put him until the shooting stopped. If he saw anything, it was probably the floor, but after we make sure Jules is okay, I’ll have him around for you.”