“You’d know that better than I would,” Dalton said.
Asher asked, “You’re dodging the question, which leads us to believe that there is another group in town.”
Dalton’s gaze cut to Asher. “Didn’t say that, did I?”
Rhett clenched his jaw in frustration and turned back to his file to pull out the photograph of the perpetrators. He slid that to Dalton. “Recognize anyone?”
Dalton’s eyes breezily scanned the photograph. Until suddenly his gaze stopped, narrowing slightly, his mouth twitching. “Nah, I’ve never met any of them.” He leaned away, shoving the photograph back toward Rhett.
“Bullshit,” Rhett said, pointing to the man whom Dalton seemed to recognize. “You know him, tell me who he is.”
Dalton’
s gaze flicked back to photo before lifting to Rhett again. “I already told you, West, I don’t know who that is.” He rose in one fluid movement, an arrogant prick as always. “And since you’ve got no reason to hold me here, I’m leaving. Unless I need to call my lawyer.”
Rhett bit back a curse. They couldn’t force Dalton to talk, no matter that Rhett wanted to do just that, by any means necessary. For now, he’d tread lightly. Besides, he had enough to go on to get the ball rolling. He took the photograph and slid it back into the file. “Cut him loose,” he said to Asher.
Dalton’s brows shot up. “That was very anticlimactic, West. After our last time together, I thought you’d come at me a little harder.” A quick, dark grin crossed his face. “It must be that sexy little brunette that gets you up all fired up.”
“She does get me worked up,” Rhett said calmly, even as tension roared through him. He pressed his knuckles against the metal table and leaned in. “She’s pregnant with my child.”
Dalton’s smile widened. “Is she now?”
Bored of this game, Rhett said, “If you’ve got a hand in this, I’ll find out, but let me make this clear to you. No one comes near her, and if you know who’s responsible for this”—he allowed every ounce of darkness that had once lived in his soul to show on his face—“tell them to run.”
Dalton’s entire demeanor changed. What once was playful was now serious, and he looked Rhett directly in the eyes. “The Red Dragons have no interest in your woman or her bar.”
Rhett hesitated, scooping up the file, playing those words over. Dalton’s answer had been specific. A bit too specific. “Keep it that way,” Rhett said, turning away.
His hand reached the door handle as Asher said, “All right, Dalton, we’re done here.”
Rhett whisked the door open, and Dalton replied, “Next time you pick me up for no reason, I won’t be so nice.”
Rhett snorted, not indulging Dalton in further conversation. He headed straight for his office and took a seat behind his desk. He opened the file, taking out the photograph of the men in Kinsley’s bar, as the loud roars of motorcycles thundered outside the station, heading out of town.
Asher entered his office a minute later, followed by Boone. They sat in the client chairs across from him. “What did you make of that?” Rhett asked Boone.
“Dalton knows something,” Boone said, crossing his ankle over his knee.
Asher nodded. “But I still doubt it’s the Red Dragons.”
“He basically hand-fed us that it’s not his bikers,” Rhett said. “His choice of words, ‘The Red Dragons have no interest in your woman or her bar,’ was very specific. The second he heard she was carrying my child, his demeanor changed. Was it a warning that while he and his men aren’t interested in Kinsley, someone else is?”
Boone scrubbed his unshaven face. “You’re certain King has nothing to do with this?”
Rhett nodded. “Got no doubt in my mind.”
Asher added, “As much as I’d love to jump on King and get him for this, I agree, this doesn’t have his flavor on it.”
“We need to put this to bed,” Rhett said, running his hands over his face.
Asher broke the silence. “You saw something from Dalton.”
Rhett hit the spacebar on his keyboard to awaken his computer and reached for the mouse. “Dalton recognized that guy. I saw it in his face.” Rhett pulled up the photograph of the men and zoomed in on the picture until he had what he needed. Rhett turned his monitor toward the guys and tapped the man’s tattoo on his wrist. “He recognized that.”
Asher studied the tattoo then his brow arched. “How sure are you?”
The military taught Rhett not to miss subtle physical clues. To do so meant lives were lost. “I’d wager that he not only knows of the guy, but he’s met him personally. We want to find out who’s behind this,” Rhett said, stabbing his finger against his monitor. “We need to find out who this tattoo belongs to.”