Lift You Up (Rivers Brothers 1)

Savea was clearly the latter of the two.

"No. They were all away. So I moved down the stock aisles. And I heard voices. And then I saw three men in the propped open back doors. And one of them was... was beating my boss."

"Harry, right?" I clarified, jotting down the notes.

"Yeah. Harry. He was on the ground. And someone was pulling him up by the front of his shirt, yelling at him."

"About what? What were they saying?"

"He had to get them something. And Harry said he couldn't. Or he needed more time. It's starting to get foggy," she admitted, shaking her head at her faulty memory. "But they said he had to find it, then they, ah, they slammed his head down on the ground." A shiver racked through her at the memory. "I dropped my phone," she went on. "That was how they knew... Oh, God. I left my phone. Could they, I don't know, get into it and find more about me?"

I didn't want to have to tell her that if these were some big-time bad guys - which they were starting to sound like - that they didn't need her phone. They could beat the information out of Harry.

He'd give it up.

People liked to think they could keep their mouths shut, that they were above giving another person up to save themselves a beating.

Most people were wrong.

"You have it locked?" I asked, watching her nod. "Then it's not likely they will get it open. I doubt they're experts at it and it is a hassle to find someone who is."

"My purse," she realized suddenly, mouth falling open. "I left my purse in my car. It was the only car on the street. They had to have figured out when they went back that it was mine. They know my address. And have access to my bank accounts."

"Okay, take a breath," I told her, moving over toward where she was sitting, leaning my head down to catch her eyes. "After we're done, I will give you my phone and laptop to look up the numbers to shut down your cards. I don't think that is necessary, but it's better to be safe. You'll feel better. But right now, we need to stay on-point, okay?" I asked, giving her hand grabbing the edge of the counter a reassuring squeeze. I couldn't be sure, but I would have sworn her breath hissed inward at the touch.

"Okay," she agreed, taking a deep breath. "What else do you need?"

"Descriptions. Of the men. Their voices. Anything distinctive."

"It was dark," she reminded me. "I didn't get a good look. All were tall. One was overweight. All with dark hair, I think. I couldn't really see their eyes or really even their faces. One seemed like the boss. He had a slight Long Island accent."

"Tattoos? Piercings?"

"Not that I saw."

So, essentially, nothing to go on.

I wondered if her boss would cough the information up. If I could find him at all.

"What is going to happen now?" she asked.

"That is up to you. We can call up the NBPD. We can file a report, let them handle it. Which I am obliged to tell you is the legal - and smart - option," I told her, air-quoting the descriptors.

"Is that what you think I should do?"

"I think you should do what you are comfortable with," I told her.

"That's not what I asked," she shot back, lips tipping up.

"I think it sounds like Harry is wrapped up in something serious. And I think you know how corrupt the police force is in our town. They let AK-toting survivalists actively guard the local gun-running motorcycle club's gates. If whoever these guys are have bribed the cops, we won't get anywhere. I'm not an investigator," I reminded her. We had investigators in town. And if this went over my head, my pride wasn't so big that I wouldn't refer her there. If she could afford them, that is. "But I can look into this. And I think you know that between my brothers and me and the rest of our sort-of family can come together to handle whatever this situation might be."

My sister had married into a family of loansharks and enforcers. Savea's best friend, Peyton, was shacked up with one of the aforementioned gun-running bikers. She had half a town behind her if she needed it.

"Okay. Then that is what I will do," she agreed, eyes cutting away. "Should we go into the office?"

"Why?"

"To, um, draw up the paperwork? Schedule a, ah, payment plan."

"Savvy," I said, not bothering to fight my smile. "I'm not charging you."

"You have to," she insisted.

"Nope. I don't. And I won't. I'm doing a favor for a friend."

"But... you don't even know what the situation is. It could be dangerous."

"Crossing the street could be dangerous," I countered. "It's fine. Roll that tension out of your neck. I will handle it."