“Fuck you. Like you have room to talk after yesterday. And apparently last night by the look of Ian’s neck. Animal.” He held a sack in one hand and a pad of paper with an envelope in the other. “We’re about to leave, but I came back in to give you something. I picked this up when I went on that last supply run with Lucas yesterday.” He handed Hollis the bag.
There was a bottle of very expensive Michter’s Bourbon inside. This stuff ran several hundred dollars. Some of their whiskey ran into the thousands. He lifted an eyebrow at Snow, who shrugged.
“Lucas and I like this one for the special occasions. I thought you could put it in that box and add a note of your own to go in along with the other.” He handed the paper and envelope over. “Seal it behind the wall for someone in the future to find.”
Hollis stared at the surgeon, not sure why he was surprised. He’d learned of Snow’s thoughtfulness long ago, but it was still always such a shock when most of the time, there was more bite than anything else to the man. “That’s a great idea. What should I write?”
“I can’t do everything for you, asshole.” And the bite was back. “I got the alcohol. Should age just fine in that glass bottle back in the box.” With that, he turned and left, obviously uncomfortable with this whimsical idea he’d had.
Laughing under his breath, Hollis set the bottle on the plywood table and regarded it for several long moments. Then he closed his eyes. The sounds of busy construction came from all around him—Ian and Lucas’s voices adding to the noises as they drifted down the hall. Laughter peppered the banging and scraping and the thuds of Sven breaking up trash outside. A loud clatter rang from somewhere back in the house, followed by Andrei’s muffled grumbling. A sense of contentment warmed his chest. These men had turned what he’d expected to be a hard, frustrating weekend into something fun and rewarding. He realized that somewhere along the line, they’d become his friends, too.
Hollis hadn’t recognized how alone he’d felt before this. He’d liked the city enough to stay but in the back of his mind, he always expected to someday go home to Georgia to live closer to his family. But Ian was right. This could be his family, too.
His eyes flew open as an idea for the letter came to him and he stared at the bourbon bottle, his heart pounding. A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he looked back to find Lucas standing there, his strange colored eyes that sometimes looked gray and sometimes green, probing. He hadn’t even heard him walk up.
“You like Snow’s idea?”
“Yeah, a lot. That man never fails to surprise me.”
“He’s good like that. Keeps things interesting. Always has. Do you know what you’re going to write in the note?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“So, does that mean you’re going to stop standing around useless and get back to work now so we can get all this done before my wedding?”
Hollis shut his eyes and shook his head. Far as he knew, that wedding was months off still. If it hadn’t been, Ian would have been talking about little else. “You just have to push my buttons. Every damn time.”
“Of course. I live for that.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed before he heard Lucas stride out of the room.
“This is my life,” Hollis muttered as he took the bottle downstairs to keep it out of harm’s way. His basement had a lot more room now that they’d taken all the cabinets upstairs. Hollis was big and pretty strong, but Sven was a damn powerhouse and had made short work of hauling the heavy things around. He was a quiet guy, kind of solemn…but he laughed readily enough when the jokes were flying.
So did Royce, although Hollis had the feeling he preferred being alone. Or far away from a cop—even a former one. Every now and then, the hair on the back of Hollis’s neck stood up around the man. But Rowe was too fucking thorough when it came to digging, and Hollis seriously doubted anything could slip past him. He came off as a prankster, but he was sharp—damn sharp. He would only hire people he knew he could trust. But Hollis had years of experience and a solid gut instinct, honed from years of staring liars in the face. There was something unsettling about Royce.
Curiosity had made him a good detective, and he hoped it would make him a great private investigator. He had the urge to do a little digging on the enigmatic man, but he tucked that thought away for later.
He looked around for the best place to stash the bourbon.