“Maybe it was the curse,” Mike joked to diffuse the situation and ease the tension.
Nobody named Corwin laughed.
KING BOBBY WAS HALFWAY through a bottle of whiskey when the private investigator he kept on retainer called him with a report. King Bobby had asked the man to dig up some dirt on Detective Michael Corwin.
“Give me something I can use, Clint, or else I’m gonna serve you at my next barbecue,” King Bobby barked into the phone. He couldn’t take Boston a day longer. He had to get back to the ranch.
But he wasn’t leavin’ without his money.
His high-priced P.I. rambled on about how the detective Amber Rose married had a clean record, on and off the job, and King Bobby’s frustration grew. “That’s useless to me. I don’t pay you for shit I can’t use.”
And from what Clint had reported so far, it’d be damn hard for even a man of King Bobby’s persuasive skills to get the detective to turn on his pretty lady.
“What else ya got?” King Bobby asked, pulling on a long sip of whiskey. The liquid burned, firing up his belly as much as his anger.
“Not much ’cept some background. Detective Corwin’s got family in a small coastal town. A place called Stewart,” Clint said.
“You don’t say…” King Bobby grabbed a pen and made notes. “Tell me more.”
He listened to Clint’s irritating whine and scrawled the name of the town on the paper. He’d look the place up on a map and see if he could drive there. “Gimme an address.”
Clint hemmed and hawed.
“Spit it out, boy!”
“Corwin’s father’s address is unlisted.”
“Shit!”
“Yes, sir, but I’m working on finding it out,” Clint said, rushing to assure him. “Don’t you worry, I’m on it,” the other man assured him.
“Quit kissin’ my ass and find me that information!” King Bobby snapped his phone shut, then began slamming through drawers in the hotel room looking for a map, but all he found was a Bible. “I don’t want to pray,” he muttered.
King Bobby downed the rest of his drink. “Maybe the concierge can git me a map or directions. Concierges are good at getting their hands on things.” Ripping the sheet of paper with the name off the pad, he folded it and slipped it into his pocket.
That yahoo Clint could keep digging until he found the lady or the cop’s father, but King Bobby didn’t have the patience to wait. “I’m gettin’ closer. I can feel it.” With a little luck, by the time Clint uncovered anything, King Bobby would already have the pretty lady in his sights.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SUNDAY MORNING DAWNED bright and early. Mike woke surprisingly rested, considering the events of last night—which ended as quickly as they began. Shaken by his behavior, Uncle Thomas headed home, leaving Jason at his brother’s house, something they all agreed would be okay for one night. Derek and Gabrielle took off. And Clara left after assuring Mike and Amber that Edward, though he refused to leave the boathouse, was calm and safe.
In the end, Mike and Amber ate a quick dinner alone and fell into bed exhausted, sleeping wrapped together until Mike’s alarm went off at 6:00 a.m.
He didn’t linger in bed, regardless of how much he wanted to. Instead, he showered and dressed then went downstairs to have a coffee with his cousin. Half an hour later, he went back up to wake Amber.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” He stroked her cheek and she stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
“It’s time already?” she asked, pushing herself up against the pillows. The motion shifted her shirt, leaving one ripe breast visible to Mike’s hungry gaze.
He groaned and raised the material, covering her before he succumbed to the urge to place his mouth on her sweet skin. “Yeah, it’s time. Jason’s waiting for me in the kitchen.”
“And you’re sure sharing your apartment with him in Boston is a good idea?” she asked. Poor Jason would get the couch.
Mike nodded. “Nobody will think to look for him there. It’s a big city, not a small town. There’s been so much unusual traffic here at my father’s, Jason isn’t comfortable staying here.
“I’m not surprised.”
Mike nodded. “I watched the national news this morning. The fact that he’s tested positive is making headlines.” Mike frowned, recalling how much his n