Rebel (Wolfes of Manhattan 1)

Dump him? I loved him. More than anything, even though shards of fear knifed through me. Part of me was afraid of part of him. How could I say all this? I opened my mouth, but all that came out was, “Dump you?”

“Yeah. I’m a fucking wreck, Lace. I’m a… I mean, I’m not a… Shit.”

“Just tell me. Tell me everything, Rock. Please.”

Beatings. Emotional abuse. A broken bone once. Protecting Roy and Reid. And…Riley. Poor Riley.

“I only just found out about the ‘princess trips’ my father took her on after I left,” he was saying. “Roy and Reid were terribly jealous, but I know what he did to her on those trips.” He wrung his hands together.

“Your brothers really don’t know?”

“They don’t seem to.”

“And they don’t know why you were sent away?”

“No. Not the real reason. No one on earth does. Except my mother.”

My skin was still tight and numb around me.

My mother.

I had so many questions—so many that they melded together in my mind into a sea of incoherence. I needed every scintilla of information Rock had, needed to know what he was capable of, whether he’d ever even slightly thought of doing something like…

I couldn’t even finish the thought in my mind.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Rock said, “Lace, you’ve got to say something. Please.”

“I don’t know what to say.” True words.

The gun. His prints were on the murder weapon. And his gun had been stolen.

But Rock was innocent. He was in Montana.

Wasn’t he?

Was I truly beginning to have doubts?

“…since then. Never.”

“What?” I said.

“You’re not hearing me, Lace.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I was arrested once for getting into a fight at a bar. That’s it. I’ve never tried… Never even wanted to…” He rubbed his forehead. “Fuck.”

I just stared at him. Big and strong, handsome and magnificent…and Rock Wolfe was reduced to a nervous wreck. I couldn’t bear to see him like this. Finally, I reached toward him and took his hand.

“We’ll figure this out,” I said.

Relief visibly swept over him. “Thank God.”

“This doesn’t mean I don’t have questions. A lot of questions.”

“I know. I’m just glad you’re talking.”

“I need to wrap my head around the whole thing. But I love you. I can’t just fall out of love with you.”

“Thank God,” he said again.

“You thought I could?”

“Baby, I didn’t know. This is big. I know how big this is. But I swear to you, I’m not a killer, and I did not off my father.”

“I can see why you think your mother’s involved in framing me. She thinks you’ll do anything to save me.”

“I will.”

“It won’t come to that. Not if we figure out what’s going on first.”

“How? How the hell are my prints on that gun?”

“We know it’s not your gun, though. Whoever stole yours and thought they could frame you didn’t stop to consider that guns are easily identifiable by serial number and registration.”

“So not the brightest bulb.”

“Yeah. But the bigger question is how did your prints get on the gun that killed your father?”

He shook his head. “Fuck if I know.”

“Does anyone you know have the same model gun?” I asked.

“I have no idea. I go shooting alone most of the time. The only time I’m with others is when I hunt, and we use different firearms for that.”

“All right. When did you buy the gun in question?”

“Shit. About six months ago. It’s my newest one.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “Did you shoot the same model before you bought it?”

“Yeah, I always—” He grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. “You’re a genius!”

I pulled away quickly, not quite ready to be close to him yet. I’d be okay, but I needed a little time. “It’s a theory right now. But we’re going to have to figure out exactly where you shot that model before you decided to purchase.”

He tensed a little, blowing air out of his lungs. “There was a gun show in Billings. I was looking at handguns… And then again at a sportsman’s shop.”

“So you fired that same model twice? Two different guns?”

“Yeah. Then I went back and bought the gun at the shop later that week after I got paid.”

“Simple enough, then,” I said. “Someone got hold of one of those guns after you fired it. That’s the murder weapon.”53Rock“It’s still a theory,” Lacey said. “But it makes more sense than someone planting prints on a weapon. I’m not sure that can even be done.”

“It makes perfect sense. And if you’re right, someone’s been watching my every move for a while.” Prickles ran over my skin. Who the hell would violate my privacy like that?

Someone who hated my old man. Damn. Could be anyone.

“If it’s been six months since you handled them,” she said, “we know your father’s death was being planned at least six months ago and probably for longer. We need to find those guns.”