“My nine is missing. I went to get some cash out of my vault today and noticed it was gone.”
“Did you file a report?” Carson asks after taking a pull from his beer.
“Yeah, a detective is looking into it.”
“When was the last time you saw it?” Cade questions, and I can tell he’s going into police officer mode.
“A few days ago.” Anytime I have tips, I put the cash in there so I’m not carrying it around with me, and that’s the last time I saw it.
“Does anyone have the code?” Cade continues, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his feet apart.
“Mom and Dad, but no one else that I know of. Neither of them took it out, so I have no idea who would have gotten in there. Or why the fuck they would take that gun and nothing else. I have guns in there that are worth close to a grand each. It doesn’t make sense,” I say, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Your code was your birthday, someone could have guessed that.” Dad says and I sigh. He’s right someone could have guessed it.
“You’re not telling Gia about it being missing?” Cade asks, and I look at him.
“She’s already dealing with enough shit. I don’t want her to worry about this.”
“Is that the real reason, or do you think she took it?” he asks, and I sit up straight.
“She didn’t fucking take it,” Dad inserts for me while shaking his head. “Did you meet her?”
“I met her.” He nods, looking suddenly thoughtful.
“That girl would probably run if she ever even saw a gun. Why the hell would she take it?”
“I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just asking questions to see if I can figure it out.”
“Well you’re asking the wrong fucking questions,” Dad grumbles, and I grin. He likes Gia and has obviously become protective of her. “We should head in before your mom comes out here to ask why I haven’t started up the grill.” He stands with his beer and heads for the door.
Going across the lawn to the house, we head through the back door that leads into the kitchen. As soon as we step inside, “Uncle Colton!” is shouted toward me in unison. Smiling at my five and six-year-old nieces, I head to where they are both sitting on the large, white marble-topped island in the middle of the room, mixing something in a bowl.
“Hey, Mizza.” I kiss the top of her dark head then lean over to do the same to her sister. “Hey, Imma.” I kiss her cheek, and she tips her head to the side, studying me.
“We met your girlfriend,” she informs me, then continues, “she’s pretty.”
“She is. I agree.” Rubbing the top of her head.
“Are you going to marry her?” Mizza asks, and I smile at her.
“I don’t know, honey.”
“I think you should marry her and let me be the flower girl.”
“No, I get to be the flower girl,” Imma disagrees loudly, glaring at her sister.
“No you don’t,” her sister denies louder, glaring right back.
“What on earth are you two fighting about now?” Janet asks, coming into the kitchen carrying grocery bags, with Gia behind her carrying a box of beer in one hand and a case of wine coolers in the other.
“Mizza said she gets to be the flower girl at Uncle Colton’s wedding,” Imma whines, looking at her mom and crossing her arms over her chest, then pouts. “I want to be the flower girl.”
“You can’t be, because I’m going to be the flower girl when he marries Gia,” Mizza says, looking smug.
“Oh my,” I hear Gia whisper, then turn to see her eyes are wide and her cheeks are pink.
“Before you girls totally freak out Gia any more, how’s if we talk about this when the time comes to talk about it?” Janet suggests, and I hear Mom laugh and notice she didn’t even attempt to wade in to get them to stop fighting.
“Let me get that, baby.” I take the stuff from Gia, kissing the side of her head, then walk to the fridge to drop the beer and wine coolers inside. Going back to her, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “I take it you met everyone.”
“I did.” She looks up at me and smiles still looking a little shell-shocked.
“Gia, can I be your flower girl?” Imma asks, apparently not liking the idea of talking about it later and possibly missing her shot to her big sister.
“I—”
“No, can I be?” Mizza interrupts, and Gia’s hand that has wound around my back tightens in my tee.
“I… well…” She pauses, lifting her shoulders. “If that happens one day, I would love for you both to be my flower girls. But,” she adds quickly, “only if that ever happens.”
“Yippee!” Mizza yells, throwing her hands in the air.