Grave Secrets (Manhunters 1)

“Mo.” Hank stopped at the driver’s door, his hard warning gaze on Ian. “We’ve got some business to discuss.”

“Ian,” Mo said with a go-on tilt of his head.

Retreating went against everything Ian believed in. Everything he was made of. But he straightened from the car and settled the ratchet in the toolbox at his side. “I’ll just grab a quick bite.”

Wiping his hands with a rag, Ian exited the back door, leaving it slightly ajar. He pressed his back to the exterior wall and rested his head near the gap. Without the cranking space heater warming the garage, the cold sank into Ian’s bones.

“How’s business?” Hank asked.

“Busy. What can I help you with, Sheriff?”

“I’m just gonna get right to the point, Mo. You need to fire him.”

Fucker. Even though Ian had known it was coming, the order still pissed him off.

“Why’s that?” Mo asked.

“Just tell him you made a mistake. That you don’t need him.”

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Mo hit back, deepening Ian’s respect for the man. “And I do need him. My arthritis is actin’ up. Can’t do everything I used to.”

“Find someone else,” Hank told him.

“I’ve tried two other guys with half his experience. Neither worked out. I’ll oversee him until I know he’s reliable, but being he’s just out of the military where he worked on anything with an engine, I’m guessing he knows even more than I do.”

“I don’t care how much experience he’s got. I don’t want him working on sheriff’s department vehicles.”

Motherfucker. The man knew exactly how to exploit a weakness.

“You know somethin’ I don’t?” Mo asked.

“Not anything I can repeat. Just trust me—you don’t want him here.”

“If he’s bad news, he’ll show his colors soon enough.”

“I haven’t made myself clear.” Hank hooked his thumbs in his duty belt and leaned toward Mo, his voice clearly carrying a threat. “This is not a discussion. It’s an order. Fire. Him.”

“I’ve been running this shop since you were in diapers, Hank. And I own my own business so I don’t have to take orders. The fact that you think I will is both arrogant and disrespectful.” Mo lifted his chin in defiance. “This about Ian working on the cars? Or about Ian living next door to Savannah?”

“Just fucking fire the guy, Mo.” Hank’s voice dropped, raspy around the edges with frustration. “Or I’ll find another

garage to handle the maintenance contract for the department’s vehicles.”

“Fuck,” Ian whispered.

“Good luck with that,” Mo told him. “I doubt you’re going to want to drive every car in your fleet to and from Whitefish for maintenance.”

Ian didn’t need to hear any more. It was almost three o’clock, and he hadn’t stopped to do anything but piss since six a.m.

He took a side street so he didn’t have to enter the garage again and walked to the diner. As soon as the thought of food and Savannah entered his mind, he was starving. For both.

He approached the café, disappointed when he didn’t see her car. But when he walked in, he found her standing near the counter, pulling off the apron around her waist where she carried pens, straws, and an order pad.

The bell signaled his arrival, and she glanced over. Her face lit up, creating a sparkle in her eyes. “Well, hey there.” She turned away from Misty and leaned her hip against the counter. “Didn’t see you this morning. Are you making yourself breakfast now that you have a kitchen?”

Damn, she had a great smile. Considering all the hell her ex-husband and ex-in-laws had put her through, how many men came and went in this town, he didn’t know how she could take to him so fast or be so friendly. If he were in her shoes, he’d be homicidal, which would be a very bad thing for everyone, considering how much training he’d had in killing people.

He also knew that if Savannah ever found out who and what he really was, he’d never see her smile at him like this again. The thought created a pang in his gut. A painful one. Ian needed to check his barriers.